I-Il-JKAK  Y 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
M, 


Deceived 
Accessions  No  J(>  OSLO  I    .('    o./.« /Vo. 


. 


SONG-BLOSSOMS 


BY 
JULIA   ANNA   WOLCOTT. 


I  found  the  poems  in  the  fields, 
And  only  -wrote  them  down. 

JOHN  CLARE,  of  Northamptono 


BOSTON. 

ARENA  PUBLISHING  CO., 

COPLEY  SQUARE, 

1895. 


Copyrighted  by 
JULIA  ANNA  WOLCOTT 

1394. 
All  Riyhts  Reserved. 


Befcicatefc 

MOST  TENDERLY,  REVERENTLY, 

AND  WITH  PROFOPNOK^TVORATITUDB, 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OP 

MY  MOTHER, 

ANNA  EAMES  WOLCQTT. 


I  thought  this   little  book  to  place 
Within  thy  warm,  enfolding  hand,— 

To  watch  the  pleasure  light  thy  face 
As  iiuuhine  lightetlx  up  the  land. 


KOTE. — Special  thanks,  for  permission  to  use  cer 
tain  copyrighted  poems,  are  returned  to  the  publish 
ers  of  the  Arena  Magazine,  Century  Magazine,  New 
England  Magazine,  Congregationalist,  Well-Spring, 
Illustrated  Christian  Weekly,  Ladies'  Home  Journal, 
and  to  the  former  and  present  publishers  of  Little 
Men  and  Women — the  Lothrop  Publishing  Co.,  and 
the  Alpha  Publishing  Co. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS, 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW. 

Joy  Doubled 11 

Where 12 

In  the  Meadows  in  June 14 

The  Quest 18 

The  Wild  Gerardia 20 

By  the  Brook 22 

The  Bee 24 

The  Spring  Pasture 26 

Autumn  's  Corning 28 

Milkweed-down - 29 

Spiranthes 31 

AMONG  THE  HILLS. 

Aurora's  Coming 37 

On  the  Hills 39 

Invocation  to  the  Hills 43 

The  Useless  Little  Tree 44 

BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 

Daisies  and  Succory 53 

The  Yellowbird 55 

The  Mayweed 57 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


HERE  AND  THERE. 

Regret 61 

Dependence .  62 

Sunset  on  the  Bay 63 

Loch  Katrine 65 

Hold  Fast  the  Bright  Hours 69 

Call  to  the  Crocuses 70 

A  Breath 72 

Valentine  Song 74 

Dream  of  Schooldays 78 

AT  THE  FIRESIDE. 

Coming  Home  at  Night 85 

To  Woman  Who  Toileth 87 

The  Land  Where  We  All  Have  Been 90 

The  Cradle  in  which  John  Quincy  Adams  was  Rocked  93 

The  Children's  Saint 97 

WITH  THE  CHILDREN. 

Santa  Claus's  Sister 103 

Wedding  in  the  Garden 107 

Lady  Marie's  Mishap Ill 

Giving 114 

If  I  were  a  Boy  instead  of  a  Girl 117 

The  Prisoner  of  the  Snow  Fort 120 

Kitty's  Birthday  Party 122 

Birthday  Letter  to  Flossie 124 

The  Child  and  the  Aster 128 

My  Little  Milkmaid 133 

How  They  Started  for  the  Fair 135 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


Helping  Zeke 137 

Bessie's  Riches 143 

The  May  Party 146 

Arbor-day  Song 154 

IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD. 

Our  Christmas 157 

The  Mugwump 161 

The  Jealous  Ghost 163 

Andrea's  Discovery 170 

The  Usurer's  Reply 173 

Advice  to  a  Despairing  Lover 175 

When  Pushed  to  the  Wall 176 

GREETINGS. 

An  Old,  Old  Fashioned  Flower 179 

November  Greeting 181 

Greeting  with  Bluebells r     ...  183 

Chime  for  a  September  Wedding 184 

Welcome  to  Baby 186 

TRANSLATIONS. 

The  Mountain  Emigrant .    .  189 

Carcassonne 192 

The  Ploughman  and  his  Children 196 

Child-times 197 

The  Castle  by  the  Sea 200 


TABLE  OF  CONTEXTS. 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY. 

Easter  Lilies 205 

The  Broader  Field 207 

The  Woodbird's  Song 209 

She  Is  Not,  Dead 215 

Joy  and  Pain 218 

Invalided 220 

Up  or  Down 222 

Her  First  Sunday  in  Heaven 225 

Come  Back 227 

At  the  Tomb  of  Dickens 229 

In  Chains 231 

The  Burial  of  a  Master 234 

Departure  of  the  Old  Year 239 

The  Old  and  the  New 241 

Two  Prayers 245 

Birthday  Hymn 246 

Hymn  for  Help 247 

Lend  a  Hand 248 

Sunset  Hjinn 250 

Benediction ,  2o2 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW. 


(0) 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  11 


Doubled 


I  SING  as  sings  the  bird 

On  yonder  branchlet  swinging; 
It  is  not  that  the  song  be  heard, 

But  for  the  joy  of  singing. 
And  yet,  if  there  chance  by, 
Or  hap  to  linger  nigh, 
Who  listens  to  my  lay, 

Then,  with  a  heart  less  troubled, 
Goes  braver  forth  to  meet  the  day,- 

The  joy  of  song  is  doubled. 


12  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


OH  where  does  the  blush  of  the  wild-rose  go, 
When  it  fades  from  the  bank  of  the  stream  ? 

And  tell  me,  dearest,  if  you  know, 

What  becomes  of  the  marigold's  gleam  ? 

Oh  where  is  the  little  blue  succory  flower, 

That  drooped  beside  the  way  ? 
And  where  the  joy  only  born  for  an  hour, 

And  the  hope  that  lived  but  a  day  ? 

Are  the  sweets  all  lost  of  the  flower  that  dies, 

Ere  the  honey-bee  comes  to  sip  ? 
And  wasted  the  breath  of  the  lover's  sighs 

That  fall  unheard  from  the  lip  ? 

Oh  where  is  the  lay  that  the  bobolink  trilled 
When  summer  was  young  and  gay? 

Is  the  sweet  song  ringing  yet  unstilled, 
Floating  through  space  away  ? 


RIVERSIDE  AND   MEADOW.  13 


The  rose's  blush  that  fades  by  the  stream 

To  the  sunset  lends  its  dye ; 
The  gay  marsh-marigolds  glow  and  gleam, 

The  stars  of  the  midnight  sky. 

The  little  blue  succory  blooms  again, 

In  the  eyes  of  the  girl  I  love ; 
And  I  think  all  the  hopes  and  joys  that  wane 

Await  our  coming  above. 


The  flower  that  dies  ere  the  honey-bee  sips 
Gives  its  sweets  to  the  winds  that  roam  ; 

The  sighs,  unheard  as  they  fall  from  the  lips, 
Waft  love's  fond  messages  home. 


And  the  melody  gay  of  the  bobolink's  song, 
Though  it  falls  no  more  on  our  ears, 

Is  mingling  yet,  as  it  drifts  along, 
With  the  music  of  the  spheres. 


14  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Hn  tbe  flDeafcows  in  June. 


OH  the  blue,  blue  sky  is  o'er  me, 
The  grass  waves  round  my  feet ; 

The  river  rolls  before  me, 
The  robin's  note  is  sweet. 


Their  streamers  the  flags  are  flying, 
The  buttercups  gleam  like  gold ; 

The  breeze  with  joy  is  sighing, 
The  regal  ferns  unfold. 


The  clematis  stars  grow  whiter, 
The  elder  has  blossoms  of  snow  ; 

And  the  fairy  lilies  are  brighter 
Than  flowers  of  the  garden  know. 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  15 


Oil  the  budding  rose,  with  lips  parted, 
And  the  far   and  feathery  rue, 

And  the  daisies,  golden-hearted, 
And  the  clovers  wet  with  dew, 


With  the  grasses  bend  and  shimmer, 
When  the  wind  comes  rippling  down, 

Till  the  meadow  's  all  a'glimmer, 
Like  my  Lady^  broidered  gown. 


And  the  breezes,  swaying  and  lifting 
The  billows  of  shining  bloom, 

Set  a  myriad  wavelets  drifting, 
Of  a  mingled,  rich  perfume. 


And  many  an  unseen  flower, 
I  know  by  its  odor  sweet, 

Is  hidden  in  yonder  bower, 
Or  blooms  about  my  feet. 


lTIBSITTl 


16  SONG-B  L  OSS  QMS. 


And  to  think  that  these  marvels  of  sweetness,- 
By  the  kiss  of  the  dew  and  the  sun, — 

In  their  color  and  form  and  completeness, 
From  the  brown  old  earth  were  won ! 


Oh  miracles !  —  never  ending 

In  this  glorious  world  of  ours ! 
There  's  no  greater,  to  me,  than  the  sending 

Of  the  beauty  and  wealth  of  flowers. 


Not  even  the  constellation, 

Which  gleams  from  the  midnight  sky, 
Is  more  wondrous  than  the  creation 
Of  these  flower-stars  'neath  my  eye. 


Oh  the  riches  that  God  is  giving, 
In  color  and  fragrance  and  tune ! 

Oh  the  rapturous  joy  of  living, 
That  is  felt  in  the  meadows  in  June  I 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  17 


It  is  seen  in  the  happy  quiver 

Of  a  thousand  bright-hued  wings  ; 

It  is  heard  in  the  chant  that  the  river, 
In  its  grateful  gladness  brings. 


It  is  shown  in  the  dance  and  flutter 
Of  a  million  blossoming  things ; 

And  oh,  that  my  lips  might  utter 
The  song  that  my  spirit  sings ! 


Oh  I  'd  live  in  the  meadows  forever ! 

And  I  'd  have  all  the  days  like  this  ! 
Then  joy  would  vanish  never, 

And  only  to  be,  were  bliss ! 


18  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ube  CJuest. 


NAMESAKE  of  the  sweet  cuckoo, 
Buttercups,  and  daisies  too, 
Violets  with  your  eyes  of  blue, 
Clovers  fair  or  rose  in  hue  ! 
Tell  me  quick,  and  tell  me  true  ! 
Has  my  Love  been  seen  by  you  ? 
Did  she  pass  the  meadow  through  ? 


Little  clouds  that  sail  on  high, 
Swallows  flitting  through  the  sky, 
Winds  that  pass  me  with  a  sigh, 
Have  you  seen  my  Love  go  by  ? 
Strays  she  far,  or  is  she  nigh  ?  — 
Naught  will  pause  or  make  reply. 
If  I  find  her  not  I  die! 


RIVERSIDE  AMD  MEADOW.  19 


Caught  the  flutter  of  her  dress  ? 
Primrose,  primrose,  tell  and  bless ! 
Did  her  feet  this  pathway  press  ? 
And  these  ferns  her  hand  caress? 
Primrose,  mocking  my  distress, 
Shakes  her  head  and  bids  me  guess ; 
But  the  trillium  's  nodding  Yes. 


20  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ube  Wilfc  (Berarfcia, 

THROUGH  mazes  bright  of  August  bloom 
I  careless  ran,  one  shining  day, 

Nor  paused  to  pluck  the  primrose  tall, 
Or  golden -rod  that  lit  the  way. 

But  when,  beneath  my  very  feet, 
A  frail  gerardia  blushing  grew, — 

O'ershadowed  by  the  lofty  blooms, 
Its  modest  flowers  of  sunset  hue, — 


I  stooped  with  joy  my  prize  to  gain, 
With  eager  haste  I  snapped  the  stem, 

And  held  the  dainty  thing  aloft, 
To  mark  each  little  rosy  gem. 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW,  21 


But  while  I,  raptured,  gazed  upon 
My  new  possession,  fresh  and  fair, 

And  watched  with  glee  the  tiny  bells 
All  quivering  in  the  scented  air, 


And  cried  exultant :  "  It  is  mine ! 

Mine,  wholly  mine,  its  beauty  bright, 
I  '11  wear  it  all  this  golden  dny 

Upon  my  breast  with  proud  delight ! " 

They  lost  their  slender,  trembling  hold, 
And  from  my  siglit  fell,  one  by  one ; 

Within  my  hand  the  naked  stem 
Was  outlined  dark  against  the  sun. 


SONG-BL  OS  SO  MS. 


tbe  Brooft. 


BY  the  brook  that  laughs  and  plays, 

When  the  robin  sang  his  lays, 
And  the  wild-rose  blushed  as  brightly  as  the  morn, 

There  two  youthful  lovers  strayed, 

And  her  hand  in  his  was  laid, 
And  their  hearts,  it  seemed,  for  joy  alone  were  born. 


Now  have  come  the  wintry  days, 

And  no  birds  with  roundelays 
Greet  the  coining  of  the  sad  and  wintry  mom ; 

Not  a  wild-rose  glads  the  glade, 

Streams  are  dumb,  and  rush  and  blade 
In  the  wind  are  shivering  lifeless  and  forlorn. 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  23 


By  the  brook  the  youth  still  strays, 

Sad  and  listless  are  his  ways, 
For  the  rose  of  joy  from  out  his  heart  is  torn; 

All  his  part  in  life  is  played, 

And  of  death  he  's  not  afraid, 
Since  the  maiden  that  he  loved  from  earth  is  borne. 


Once  again  with  roundelays 

Glad  birds  greet  the  summer  days, 
And  the  wild-rose  blushes  brightly  as  the  morn  ; 

Through  the  green  and  leafy  glade 

Murmurs  steal,  by  waters  made, 
Branch  and  vine  with  blossoms  everywhere  adorn, 


By  the  brook  the  youth  still  strays, 
Bright  his  eye,  alert  his  ways, 

All  forgotten  are  the  wintry  days  forlorn  ; 
By  his  side  another  maid, — 
In  his  hand  her  hand  is  laid ; 

In  his  heart  the  rose  of  joy  again  is 


24  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


JBee. 


I  WATCHED  the  cloud-rack  sweep  the  sky, 
I  felt  the  storm  that  hovered  ni<rh 

O      9 

And  heard  the  sad- voiced  winds  go  by. 


The  skies  that  arched  ray  soul  grew  dark, 
And,  dull  with  gloom,  I  did  not  hark 
To  song  of  bird,  or  beauty  mark. 


The  aster-plumes  waved  round  my  way, 
The  golden-rod  was  nodding  gay 
To  butterflies  in  bright  array. 


RIVERSIDE  AND   MEADOW.  25 


Among  the  flowers  there  came  a  bee  ; 
A  merry,  bustling  fellow,  he, 
Who  sang  his  song  right  merrily. 


He  cared  not  though  the  skies  were  gray ; 
His  little  heart  was  just  as  gay  ; 
He  gathered  honey  all  the  way. 


With  lighter  heart  I  watched  the  bee, 
And  cried  :  "  I  'm  surely  brave  as  he  ! 
The  storm  shall  bring  no  gloom  to  me !  " 


26  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


TTbe  Spring  pasture* 

OH,  oft  in  my  dreams  I  am  wandering  still 
Through  the   pleasant  Spring  Pasture,  beside  the 

bright  rill ; 

There  I  visit  each  haunt  that  in  childhood  I  knew, 
And  gather  the  gentians  with  fringes  of  blue. 

I  pluck  the  wild-roses  that  lean  o'er  the  stream, 
And  diink  in  their  fragrance  again  in  my  dream  ; 
While  the  elder's  fan-  blossoms,  and  cornel's  pure 

snow, 
Reflected  I  see  in  the  wavelets  below. 


I  search  for  wild  strawberries !  — Were  real  ones  as 

sweet  ?— 

And  braid  the  long  grasses  that  grow  at  my  feet ; 
Count  the  threads  in  the  web  that  the  brook  spider 

weaves, 
And  pull  the  sweet-flag  with  its  ribbon-like  leaves, 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  27 


The    spring's    fragile    beauties,   the   midsummer's 

pride, 

And  the  late  autumn  blossoms  I  find  side  by  side  -f 
For  in  Dreamland  all  seasons  are  mingled  in  one, 
There  's  no  day  without  flowers,   no  hour  without 

sun. 


So  my  apron  's  o'erflowing  with  asters  and  rue, 
And  snowdrops  and  cowslips  and  violets  too  ; 
And  jac-k-in-the-pulpit  peeps  out  at  the  end, 
And  their  sweets  the  azaleas  and  columbines  blend; 


While  the    cardinal's    blossoms  and    loosestrife's 

bright  gold, 

Again  my  small  fingers  with  rapture  enfold. 
Oh,  blessed  it  is,  when  our  youth  is  all  o'er, 
That  the  joys  of  our   childhood  in  dreams   come 

once  more ! 

\ 


SONG-BL  OSSOMS. 


Eutumn's  Coming. 


Even  now 
Bends  the  heavy  orchard  bough  ; 
And  the  apples  first  to  mellow, 
Globes  of  russet,  ruby,  yellow, 

Gem  the  fading  grass. 
And  this  morning  I  have  found, 
On  the  low,  spring-watered  ground, 
Just  unfolding,  the  first  gentian  ; 
And  the  crii  kets  hold  convention 

Nightly,  where  I  pass. 

Yet  I  mourn  not,  breathe  no  sigh, 
When  the  blossoms  round  me  die : 
For  as,  in  their  rich  completeness, 
Hold  the  fruits  the  sun  and  sweetness 

Of  the  summer  o'er, 
So  the  beauty  that  is  past, 
Robins'  songs,  and  ro<e-leaves  cast, 
Perfumes,  wave  on  wave  that  drifted, 
Sun-gold,  through  the  leaf-roofs  sifted, 

In  my  heart  I  store. 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  29 


A  CHILD  from  the  folds  of  his  tiny  gown 
Had  plucked  a  bit  of  the  milkweed's  down, 
One  autumn  day,  in  the  meadow  brown. 

As  its  silken  threads  in  the  air  blew  free, 
In  wonder  and  glee  he  laughed  to  see 
A  feather  of  silver  filigree. 

And  he  loosed  the  grasp  of  his  soft,  pink  hand, 
And  he  watched  it  float,  this  shining  strand, 
And  rise  and  fall,  by  the  light  air  fanned. 

Then  he  longed  to  see  it  soar  up  on  high; 
Though  it  felt  but  tbe  power  of  his  baby  sigh, 
It  sailed  away,  through  the  bright  blue  sky. 


30  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  in  vain  the  child,  in  the  meadow  brown, 
Reached  his  dimpled  hands  for  that  bit  of  down, 
And    cried,  in    his    grief,    "  Come   down !     come 
down ! " 


Oh  dear  little  man,  of  the  meadow  brown, 
Who  wept  in  vain  for  the  milkweed-down, 
There  's  many  a  one,  in  grown-up-town, 

Who  has  thrust  some  treasure  as  lightly  aside ; 
Then,  vainly,  while  striving  his  grief  to  hide, 
Has  sought  it  sadly,  both  far  and  wide. 


RIVERSIDE  AND  MEADOW.  31 


Spirantbes. 


WHEN  the  autumn  days  are  here, 
When  the  meadow  's  brown  and  sere, 
When  the  primrose  gold  is  wasted, 
And  the  clover's  sweets  all  tasted, 
And  the  frost-king  hovers  near ; 


When  the  cardinal,  fiery  red, 
Passion- wearied,  droops  his  head ; 

When  the  loosestrife  's  lived  her  hour, 
And  the  cranesbill's  purple  flower, 
With  the  dust  of  earth  is  wed ; 


32  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


When  the  scent  of  violet  bloom, 
And  the  clethra's  sweet  perfume, 

That,  like  ghosts  of  blossoms  fair, 
Haunted  all  the  summer  air, 
Linger  not  in  autumn  gloom ; 


When  the  wild  brier's  wrinkled  hip 
Shows  where  glowed  the  rose's  lip, — 
As  the  withered  cheek  of  crone 
Tells  where  maiden  blushes  shone,- 
And  the  bee  finds  naught  to  sip  ; 


When  the  tender  onoclea 
Shivers  in  the  wind  from  fear ; 

When  the  grape-fern  casts  her  fruit, 
And  the  rue,  in  changed  suit, 
Mourns  above  the  summer's  bier  ; 


RIVERSIDE    AND    MEADOW.  33 


In  a  nook,  all  fair  and  sweet, 
Where  the  south  slope  juts  to  greet 

Willows  twined  in  thickest  hedge  ; 

Where  the  blue-eyed  grass  and  sedge 
Lightly  kiss  the  passing  feet ; 


Watered  by  a  little  rill, 

Sheltered  from  the  winds  that  chill, 
Where  the  lady-fern  is  seen 
Latest  in  her  dress  of  green, 

Just  where  meadow  meets  with  hill ; 


There  the  pure  spiranthes  blow, 
And,  from  out  then*  lips  of  snow, 

Breath  of  fragrance,  passing  sweet, 
Subtly  fills  the  lone  retreat, 
Till  no  loss  the  meadows  know. 


0* 

TJHIVERSITT] 

oar 


34  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


So,  perchance,  't  will  be,  some  day, 
When  life's  summer  's  sped  away, 

With  its  glow  of  pride  and  passion, 
With  its  blossoms  joy  can  fashion, 
And  its  tumults  fierce  or  gay ; 


From  the  ashes  of  the  fires 

Of  its  manifold  desires, 

When  all  longings  vain  shall  cease, 
Will  spring  forth  the  root  of  peace  ; 

— Life  springs  oft  from  funeral  pyres ! 


In  the  heart's  calm  autumn  hour 
'T  will  put  forth  its  pure  white  flower ; 
As  its  petals  fair  unroll, 
Fragrance  sweet  will  fill  the  soul 
With  content,  her  richest  dower. 


AMONG  THE  HILLS. 


AMONG   THE   HILLS.  37 


Burora'8  Coming 

OH  fair  is  the  morning  ! 

The  blossoms,  adorning 

Meadow  and  mountain, 

Are  wet  from  the  fountain 

Whence  Nature  distributes 

The  dew  that  contributes 
Its  share  of  bright  gems  to  Aurora's  fair  crown. 

The  sun  all  his  lances 

Sends  out  as  warm  glances, 

To  woo  the  fair  maiden 

Approaching  us  laden, 

Through  the  sky's  eastern  portals, 

With  rich  gifts  for  mortals 
Of  light  and  of  color,  that  stream  from  her  gown, 


SONG-BL  OSSOMS. 


There  's  a  stir,  a  commotion, 

O'er  land  and  o'er  ocean  ; 

'T  is  the  heart  of  creation 

In  glad  palpitation  ; 

All  nature  is  voicing 

Its  thrill  of  rejoicing!  — 

Throughout  the  long  darkness  with  sadness  't  was 
dumb. 

Every  bird  that  is  winging 

The  ether,  is  singing 

A  song  of  thanksgiving !  — 

Oh  rapture  of  living  ! 

For  with  light  has  come  sweetness, 

Triumphant  completeness ! 
Aurora,  the  queen  of  the  morning,  has  come  ! 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  39 


<S>n  tbe 


PRAY  what  do  you  see,  with  your  great  brown  eyes, 

Oh  golden-robed  daisies,  high  up  on  the  hills  ? 
Do  you  watch   the  clouds   float  through   the  soft 

summer  skies  ? 

Do  you  see  the  green   meadows   and   sparkling 
rills? 


Do  you  look  for  the  sun  in  the  east  every  morn, 
And  mark  his  descent  in  the  west  each  eve  ? 

Are  you  glad  when  the  day,  like  a  rose,  is  born  ? 
When   it   lies   in   its   shroud   of    night,  do  you 
grieve  ? 


40  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


When     the     storm-cloud    bursts,    with     a    crash, 

oVrhead, 

And  the  lightning  darts  to  the  crag  that  is  near ; 
Whi-n  the   tall  pine  falls   to   the   earth,  torn  and 

dea<l, 

Do  you  tremble  with  awe  ?    Are  you  pale  with 
fear? 


When  the  rainbow  its  arch  rears  over  your  hills, 
Do  you   hail  its   bright  hues  with    a   throb  of 
delight  ? 

Know  you  aught  of  the  promise  its  coming  fulfils  ? 
Has  a  little  bird  sung  it  to  you  in  her  flight? 

I  know  you  're  contented,  light-hearted,  and  gay ; 
For  you  dance  with  your  neighbor,  the  blossom 
ing  grass ; 

And  you  court'sy  and  nod,  in  the  blithest  way, 
To    each   zephyr,    sweet-laden,   that  chances  to 
pass; 


AMONG    THE  HILLS.  41 


Yet,  look  yon  not  down  on  the  dwelling-*  of  men, 
And  dream  of  the  worlds  that  their  dumb  walls 

enfold?  — 

Like  us,  ponder  on  what  is  beyond  your  ken  ? 
Is  there  nothing  in  common  with  mortals  you 
hold? 


Ah  well,  golden  daisies,  you  Ve  happy,  you  Ve  Mest, 

Whatever  your  dreams,  in  a  home  on  the  hills; 
For  naught  comes  to  your  life  but  of  peace  and  of 

rest; 

You  're  above  the  poor  world,  with  its  frets  and  its 
ills. 


You  're  so  near  the  blue  sky  you  seem  close  up  to 
God ; 

His  stars  watch  you  solemnly  all  the  calm  night ; 
While  the  sunshine  by  day  falls  free  on  the  sod. 

Ah  me,  were  a  home  on  the  hills  my  right, — 


42  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Where  the  winds,  unfettered,  sweep  grandly  along, 
Fraught  with  the  balm  of  the  fir-tree  and  pine  ; 

Where  the  ear  is  caressed  by  the  hill-brook's  song, 
And  the  air  gives  life  like  a  rich,  strong  wine  ! 


The  eye  from  horizon  to  zenith  may  roam, 

For    no    walls,   reared    by    man,   their    barriers 

impose ; 

All  is  free  as  the  torrents  that  leap  and  that  foam, 
For  a  home  on  the  hills  where   the  gold   daisy 
glows ! 


Ah  well,   though   no   height-crowning    mansion  I 

own, 

Each  soul  has  a  palace  wherever  it  wills  ; 
I  will  strive  to  climb  up,  by  the  best  I  have  known, 
Till  my  spirit  dwells  tranquil  and  free  on  life's 
hills. 


AMONG    THE   HILLS.  43 


Invocation  to  tbe  Dills- 


GIVE  me  of  your  strength  and  grandeur, 
Hills,  oh  everlasting  hills !  — 

Of  the  joy  forever  pulsing 

In  the  rhythm  of  your  rills,— 

Of  the  patient  calm  endurance 
That  is  conquered  by  no  ills. 


Strong  you  Ve  stood,  from  feet  vale-planted, 
To  your  fragrant,  dark  pine  locks, 

Meeting  storms  and  wild  tornadoes 

With  the  breastplate  of  your  rocks. 

Give  me  breastplate  of  your  courage 
To  withstand  life's  rudest  shocks. 


From  your  sides  the  torrents  rushing 
Carry  wealth  to  vales  below  ; 

Teach  pure  springs  of  love  and  mercy 
Ceaseless  from  my  heart  to  flow, — 

That  I  give  to  souls  about  me, 
That  I  lessen  human  woe  ! 


44  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


TUseless  %ittle  Uree. 


IN  an  earth-filled  cleft  of  a  rocky-steep, 
High  up  on  a  wind-swept  hill, 

A  little  seed  sprang  up  one  day, 
And  it  flourished  by  God's  will. 


And  year  by  year,  through  sun  and  shower, 
It  gre\v  till  a  brave  young  tree, 

Against  the  rough  and  barren  ledge, 
The  traveller  might  see. 


And  though  by  wind  and  jutting  rock 

Of  its  symmetry  bereft, 
Its  gnarled  roots  like  bands  of  iron 

Lay  bedded  in  the  cleft. 


AMONG   THE   HILLS.  45 


And  firmly  they  held  the  little  tree 

That  grew  so  near  the  sky, 
Though  the  gale  that  swept  its  leafy  head 

Blew  never  so  fierce  and  high. 


But  it  often  sighed,  and  wearily  said, — 

As  it  looked  on  the  vale  below, 
And  watched  the  trees  in  their  sheltered  home 

In  grace  and  majesty  grow, — 


"  Oh  why  must  I  stand  on  this  barren  rock 
With  hardly  a  hold  for  my  feet, 

To  be  tossed  and  torn  by  every  wind 
And  pierced  by  the  driving  sleet  ? 


44  On  my  stunted  limbs  no  fruit  is  hung 

To  cool  and  refresh  mankind ; 
And  'neath  my  branches,  when  summer  is  hot, 

No  shade  does  the  traveller  find  ; 


SONG-BL  OS  SO  MS. 


"  While  never  a  bird  to  my  wind-swept  boughs 
Comes  its  nest  to  build  or  to  sing  ! 

Alas !  I  am  doomed  to  live  and  die, 
A  poor  and  useless  thing." 


One  morning  bright,  when  the  glad  green  earth 
Seemed  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God, 

When  buds  and  blossoms  were  springing  forth 
From  the  warm  and  pungent  sod, 

And  the  honey  bee  had  come  out  on  his  quest,— 

For  the  gracious  hand  of  May 
Had  scattered  the  gay  little  columbines 

All  over  the  ledges  gray, — 

From  flower  to  flower,  with  eager  step, 

A  fair  child  lightly  sprang ; 
And  he  plucked  the  heads  of  scarlet  and  gold 

While  gaily  his  sweet  voice  rang : 


AMONG  THE  HILLS.  47 


"  Mamma  !  dear  mamma  !  do  n't  stay  down  there, 

There  is  nothing  but  green  below ; 
Oh  come  up  here  and  we  '11  play  on  the  rocks, 

Where  the  beautiful  blossoms  grow. 


«  This  great  gray  ledge  shall  be  our  house ; 

That  rock  with  a  back  your  seat ; 
And  I  '11  plant  the  pretty  columbines 

For  a  garden  at  your  feet." 

Then  quickly  the  youthful  mother  sprang, 
Her  face  and  step  like  a  girl's, 

To  obey  the  will  of  her  little  king  — 
Her  king  with  his  crown  of  curls. 


And  lightly  she  climbed  to  the  rocky  height, 
And  she  sat  on  the  rude  stone  seat ; 

And  her  little  king  of  the  blossoms  bright 
Made  a  garden  about  her  feet. 


48  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  a  flowery  crown  she  deftly  wove, 
And  placed  on  his  shining  hair ; 

And  proudly  she  thought  that  no  ruler  before 
Had  looked  so  brave  and  fab-. 


And  so  the  moments  quickly  sped, 
As  the  golden  moments  will, 

Till  there  rose  on  the  air  a  piercing  cry, 
And  the  mother's  heart  stood  still. 


"  My  boy !  ray  boy  ! "  she  madly  cried, 
And  wildly  she  sprang  to  clasp 

The  little  form  that  even  then 
Had  slipped  beyond  her  grasp. 

Alas  !  too  near  the  shelving  edge 
The  dancing  feet  had  strayed. 

No  voice  of  warning  had  sounded  forth, 
No  hand  their  steps  had  stayed. 


AMONG  THE  HILLS. 


"  Oh  God  !  "  she  gasped,  «  be  merciful ! " 
Her  lips  could  frame  no  more  ; 

Her  trembling  limbs  with  terror  smote 
Beneath  the  weight  they  bore. 


Yet  on  she  pressed,  now  swift  and  strong, 

To  scan  the  rocks  below  ; 
Now  faltering,  weak  and  blind  with  fear, 

Not  daring  the  truth  to  know. 


So  came  she  to  the  ledge's  brink : 
Oh  Father,  could  it  be  ? 

Held  fast  within  the  circling  arm 
Of  the  little,  useless  tree, 


Unharmed  by  bruise,  unblanched  by  fear, 
Her  boy !  her  precious  child ! 

He  reached  his  hands  up  to  her  own  ; 
He  cried  "  Mamma  ! "  and  smiled. 


50  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


With  arms  made  strong  by  love  and  joy 

She  drew  him  to  her  breast, 
And  thick  on  his  rosy  cheek  and  lip 

Her  fondest  kisses  pressed. 

"  My  God,  I  thank  thee  !  "  she  weeping  cried, 
"  Thou  hast  heard  a  mother's  prayer ; 

Oh  make  him  worthy  of  thy  great  love, — 
Me  worthy  of  my  care  !  " 

And  then, — and  joyous  were  now  the  tones 

That  late  with  grief  were  wild, — 
u  Oh  bless  and  spare  the  little  tree 

That  has  saved  my  darling  child ! " 

Ah !  then  did  the  little  tree  rejoice  ; 

And  it  waved  each  leafy  hand  ; 
And  it  would  not  have  changed  its  wind-swept 
rock 

For  the  sunniest  vale  in  the  land ! 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE 


(W) 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE.  63 


2>afsfe5  ant>  Succors* 

"  DAISIES  that  faint  in  the  noonday  sun, 

Succory  blossoms,  one  by  one 

Closing  your  eyes  of  heaven's  own  blue, 

Are  you  not  sorry,  I  wonder,  that  you 

Came  to  this  dusty  road  to  stay  ?  " 

I  asked  the  flowers  as  I  paused  by  the  way. 


And  they  answered  with  voices  never  heard, 
Save  by  the  bee  and  the  hummingbird, 
And  the  child  of  man  who  loves  them  so  well 
That  he  lists  for  the  secrets  they  have  to  tell : 
"  Nay,  we  would  choose  this  place  to  live, 
For  here  by  the  way  we  may  always  give. 


54  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


"  Only  this  morn  came  a  young  girl  by, 
With  heavy  burden  and  weary  eye, 
Who  stopped  to  rest  by  our  side  awhile ; 
Then  she  went  her  way  with  a  radiant  smile. 
And  a  baby,  chubby,  and  good  to  see, 
Kissed  our  faces  with  cries  of  glee. 


"  Then  a  man  who  is  worldly  and  proud  and  cold 
Forgot  his  ambition, — forgot  his  gold ; 
And  with  softened  face,  and  a  starting  tear, 
Gathered  some  blossoms,  kneeling  here, 
To  carry  to  one  who  may  never  go 
Where  the  grasses  wave,  and  the  wildflowers 
blow." 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 


65 


THEBE  's  a  gay  little  yellowbird  flitting  about 

In  the  maple  just  over  the  way, 
'Mong  the  scarlet  twigs,  now  in  and  now  out, 
Now  pausing,  as  if  some  wish  or  doubt 

Had  bidden  his  wings  delay. 


Oh  dear  little  bird,  with  your  golden  vest, 

I  hope  you  '11  decide  to  stay  ; 
For  nothing  shall  ever  your  brood  molest, 
If  you  '11  come  and  build  your  beautiful  nest 

Of  lichens  all  green  and  gray. 


SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


I  can  see  Mrs.  Yellowbird  down  by  the  spring ; 

Go  sing  her  each  word  that  I  say ; 
And,  while  she  is  preening  her  breast  and  her  wing, 
I  'm  sure  you  '11  have  time  to  decide  everything : 

Then  come  and  select  your  spray. 


And  on  darksome  days,  how  pleasant 't  will  seem, 

When  the  sun  has  gone  away, 
And  forgotten  to  leave  a  single  beam, 
To  see  your  bright  forms  through   the   branches 
gleam, 

As  you  flutter  and  dart  in  your  play. 


Oh,  the  winds  of  summer  shall  softly  blow, 

And  gently  your  nest  shall  sway ; 
And  the  whispering  leaves  shall  murmur  low 
A  lullaby  sweet  that  the  maple-trees  know : 
O  Yellowbird,  do  not  say  nay  I 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE.  57 


I  AM  naught  but  a  little  mayweed, 
By  the  dusty  road  I  grow  ; 

And  the  people  who  pass  o'erlook  me, 
I  am  so  small  and  low. 


But  God  in  his  might  and  glory, 
High  up  in  the  heavens  so  blue, 

He  sees  the  little  mayweed, 
And  gives  it  both  sun  and  dew. 

So,  child,  whom  the  dear  Lord's  wisdom 
Has  placed  in  a  humble  cot,  — 

Toiling  in  common  raiment, 
O'erlooked  in  your  weary  lot,  — 


68  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Grieve  not,  though  men  pass  by  you  ! 

God  sees  you,  and  knows  your  load, — 
As  He  sees  the  little  mayweed, 

That  grows  by  the  dusty  road. 


HERE  AND  THERE 


(fi9) 


HERE  AND  THERE.  61 


•Rearet 

WOTTLDST  dim  this  shining  day 
Because  one,  passed  for  aye, 
Was  hung  with  clouds  of  gray  ? 
Nay,  fling  regret  away  ! 
Be  strong  in  joy  to-day; 
And  bid  its  living  ray 
Close  in  thy  brave  heart  stay, 
To  light  thee  on  thy  way, 
Should  skies  again  be  gray. 


«2  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


THOUGH  grand  and  unending  the  rhythm  ascending, 
From  numberless  waves,  as  they  roll  to  the  shore, 
And     deep,      awe-compelling,      the      organ-tones 

swelling 

Wherever,  rock-prisoned,  the  wild  breakers  roar  ; 
Should  the  ripples'  soft  treble   among  the  beach 

pebble 
For  a  moment  be  hushed,  the  sea's  anthem  were 


HERE  AND  THERE. 


Sunset  on  tbe 


THE  wind 's  asleep,  there 's  not  a  breath 
To  stir  the  waves  to  motion  ; 

The  winged  boats,  like  birds  in  death, 
Lie  on  the  breast  of  ocean. 


The  lone  gull,  floating  dreamlike  by, 
Lifts  not  his  shining  pinion  ; 

No  stir  or  sound,  in  sea  or  sky, 
To  mar  sweet  calm's  dominion. 


The  sunset  clouds  scarce  change  their  shape, 

On  the  horizon  lying, 
Though  in  their  light,  sail,  bay,  and  cape 

Are  brightening — fading  —  dying. 


64  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


High  on  the  cliff  the  tall  church-spire 
Points  with  a  gleaming  finger ; 

The  lighthouse  grim  is  crowned  with  fire ; 
Oh  sunset  glory,  linger ! 


E'en  yon  stern  rocks,  beneath  your  kiss, 
Glow  as  with  sweet  emotion  ; 

Oh  teach  my  soul  the  tranquil  bliss 
That  wraps  the  sky  and  ocean  ! 


HERE  AND  THERE.  65 


Xocb  "Katrine* 


MUSING  T  glide  o'er  Katrine's  Lake ; 
I  idly  mark  the  foamy  wake, 
And  watch  the  silvery  ripples  break 
On  Ellen's  verdant  Isle. 


The  sun  rides  high,  the  waves  are  bright; 
I  see  the  gaily  flashing  light 
Chasing  the  shadows  out  of  sight, 
Along  the  leafy  shore. 


Far  o'er  the  little  boat  T  lean  ; 
I  drink  the  beauty  of  the  scene, 
And  dream  of  all  that  here  has  been, 
While  truth  and  fiction  blend. 


66  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  as  I  gaze  the  past  returns ; 
Among  the  hazel  and  the  ferns, 
And  sunlit  bloom  that  brightly  burns, 
Fair  Ellen  stands  revealed. 


Within  her  eye  a  soft  light  glows ; 
Upon  her  cheek  still  blooms  the  rose, 
As  bright  as  eglantine  that  blows 
Upon  this  rocky  isle. 


Graceful  she  stands,  of  maiden  mien, 
Yet  queenly,  from  the  ringlet's  sheen 
Down  to  the  arching  foot,  half  seen, — 
True  Lady  of  the  Lake  ! 


Rising  and  falling  on  the  bay, 

The  wavelets  round  its  sides  at  play, 

I  see  her  shallop  as  it  lay 

When  Snowdoun's  knight  had  crossed. 


HERE  AMD  THERE.  67 


And  there,  half  hidden  and  half  seen, 
Within  the  feathery  willow's  screen, 
Fitz- James  himself,  in  Lincoln  green, 
With  dripping  hounds  beside. 


And  see  !  through  birch  and  oak  spread  wide, 
The  clematis,  like  froth  on  tide, 
That  Ellen's  hand  has  trained  to  hide 
The  rude  hall  where  she  dwells. 


And  mingled  with  the  heron's  cry, 
And  caw  of  rooks  that  wing  the  sky, 
And  cooling  plash  of  ducks  that  ply 
The  blue  and  mirroring  wave, 


So  sweet  a  strain  floats  on  my  ear 
The  ripples  hush  their  rhymes  to  hear ; 
The  startled  hare  forgets  her  fear ; 
For  wakes  the  minstrel's  harp. 


SONG-BL  OSS  QMS. 


Oh  Wizard  of  the  North  !  the  spell 
Your  magic  pen  has  wrought,  to  dwell 
O'er  this  fair  lake,  isle,  mount,  and  dell, 
Shall  hold  while  time  shall  last. 


Till  bluebells  shall  forget  to  blow, 
And  purple  heather  cease  to  grow, 
And  Katrine's  waves  no  longer  glow 
Beneath  the  sun's  bright  glance, 

"Who  comes  a  pilgrim  to  this  shore 
Shall  see  again  the  forms  of  yore, 
In  fairy  boat,  with  noiseless  oar, 
Glide  on  Loch  Katrine's  breast. 


And  form  and  boat  and  oar  shall  sway 
With  rhythmic  motion,  to  the  lay 
That  Allan-bane,  the  minstrel  gray, 
Still  sings  with  cadence  sweet. 


HERE  AND  THERE. 


ffast  tbe  Brfabt  Ibours 


OH  let  us  not  cling,  with  vain  sorrowing, 
To  the  sadness  and  pain  of  life  ! 

No  bk'ssing  will  spring  from  remembering 
Misfortunes  or  days  of  strife. 


As  the  bee  lays  up  sweets  from  the  lilies  he  meets, 

And  hurries  the  wormwood  by, 
We  will  hoard  the  gold  that  the  happy  days  hold, — 

Let  the  thought  of  the  bitter  ones  die. 


And  no  idle  regret  for  the  sorrows  we  Ve  met 

Shall  lessen  the  joy  of  to-day; 
We  '11  hold  fast  the  bright  hours,  and  we  '11  gather 
the  flowers, 

As  we  journey  along  life's  way. 


70  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 

H  Call  to  tbe  Crocuses- 

THE  bluebird  is  calling,  the  spring  rain  is  falling  ; 

Awake  !  little  crocuses,  leave  your  dark  bed  ! 
The  soft  winds  are   blowing,  the  glad  brooks  are 
flowing, 

The  willow-twigs  glisten,  all  yellow  and  red. 


Oh  be  not  faint-hearted  !  Old  Winter 's  departed ! 

Stay  not  in  your  prison  of  dreary  brown  mould. 
Not  a  flake  of  snow  lingers  !  Stretch  out  your  green 
fingers, 

Then  lift  up  your  faces  of  purple  and  gold. 


The  robin's  note 's  ringing  ;  the  frogs  too  are  singing 
Their  low,  pleasant  music,  down  by  the  old  mill ; 

The  winds  are  all  bringing,  from  buds  that  are 

springing, 
Fresh  odors  from  meadow  and  wayside  and  hill. 


HERE  AND  THERE.  71 


Oh   come  from  your  hiding,   nor  wait  for   more 

chiding ; 
Lo,  now  the   sun's   shining !  — there 's  nothing 

to  fear. 
Come  forth !  'tis  your  duty!  Praise  God  with  your 

beauty  — 
The  God  who  gives  springtime,  and  all  the  round 

year  I 


72  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


B  Breatb. 


Two  lovers  stood  in  the  twilight  dim. 
Her  dovelike  eyes  were  raised  to  him  ; 
His  face  was  turned  toward  the  day's  gold  rim. 

The  lingering  fire  in  the  darkling  sky 

Lent  an  added  warmth  to  his  speech  and  ryp. 

He   pled  for  her  love  as,    when    death   has  ion.e 

nigh, 

The  desolate  prny  for  a  sign  from  the  dead. 
Like  a  flower  on  its  stem,  her  fair  young  head 
Had  drooped  at  the  words,  "  Shall  we  not  wed  ?  " 

Though  her  heart  from  her  breast,  ns  bird  from  its 

nest, 

At  the  c.ill  of  its  mate  had  flown,  he  guessed 
No  word  of  the  truth,  nor  knew  he  was  blessed. 


HERE  AND  THERE.  73 


For  the  pride  of  a  maiden  was  still  her  own  ; 
And  she  paused  at  the  door  of  the  life  unknown, 
Wilh  question,  with  awe.      Though  the  lovelight 
shone 

In  her  sweet  dark  eyes,  ere  she  said  yea  or  nay, 
The  strange  new  way  that  before  her  lay- 
She  must  plainer  see ;  she  would  fain  delay. 

And  she  stood,  all  doubtful,  perplexed,  and  weak ; 

When  a  single  breath,  unfelt  on  his  cheek, 

Swift  ended  the  strife,  with  "  Why  did  you  speak  ?  " 

Though  love's  soft  ray  in  her  eye  still  lay, 
Her  face  was  turned  from  the  fading  day ; 
And  he  saw  it  not,  and  he  went  his  way. 


74  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Dalentine 


He. 

Oh  lady  fair,  thine  ear  incline  ; 

I  bring  thee  a  song  for  thy  valentine. 

I  sing  of  thy  face,  that  is  fairer  than  day, 

When  the  sun,  like   thy  smile,  chases  shadows 

away, 

And  thy  grace,  which  inspires  this  lay  of  mine. 
Wilt  thou  take  my  song  for  thy  valentine  ? 
Oh,  take  it,  love,  for  thy  valentine ! 

She. 

Sweet  doeg  the  melody  fall  on  my  ear, 
As  the  bird's  first  trill  when  the  dawn  is  near ; 
And  a  charm  to  the  lay  thy  praise  has  lent ; 
But  a  song,  when    sung,   is  but  breath   that   ii 
spent. 


HERE  AND  THERE.  75 


So,  oh  minstrel  lover  mine, 

I  '11  take  no  song  for  my  valentine  ! 

No,  I'll  take  no  song  for  my  valentine ! 

He. 

I  bring  thee  flowers  I  have  culled  with  care ; 

Each  rose  is  fit  for  a  queen  to  wear ; 

Yet  no  blossom  here,  in  its  beauty  and  grace, 

Is  half  so  fair  as  thine  own  sweet  face. 

I  have  tied  them  all  in  a  nosegay  fine, 

And  I  bring  them  to  thee  for  a  valentine, — 

Oh  take  them,  love,  for  thy  valentine  ! 

She. 

Fragrant  thy  flowers,  and  fair  to  see ; 
I  thank  thee  for  gathering  them  all  for  me ; 
But  naught  care  I  for  bud  or  flower, 
For  the  fairest  blossom  fades  in  an  hour ; 
So  the  sweetest  blooms,  from  the  choicest  vine, 
Would  never  do  for  my  valentine, — 

they  never  would  do  for  my  valentine ! 


76  SOArG-BLOSSOMS. 


He. 

Oh  lady,  fair  and  proud  and  cold, 

Forgive,  forgive,  if  I  make  too  bold. 

Thou   hast  spurned  my   song,  and  my  nosegay 

sweet ; 

Now  humbly  I  cast  myself  at  thy  feet ; 
And  my  heart,  that  o'erflows  with  love,  shall  be 

thine, 

If  thou  'It  take  it,  dear,  for  thy  valentine. — 
Oh  take  it,  dear,  for  thy  valentine ! 


She. 

Yes,  a  heart  that  is  warm  and  true  like  thine, 
That  will  I  have  for  my  valentine  ; 
And   when  songs  are  hushed,  and  blossoms  de 
part, 

I  still  shall  be  cheered  by  thy  faithful  heart ; 
And  if,  in  return,  thou 'It  care  for  mine, 
Why,  take  it,  love,  for  thy  valentine, — 
Oh  take  it,  love,  for  thy  valentine  ! 


HERE  AND  THERE.  77 


Together. 

Oh  a  song,  when  sung,  is  but  breath  that  is  spent, 
So  a  song  for  a  valentine  ne'er  would  content; 
And  naught  care  I  for  bud  or  flower, 
For  the  fairest  blossom  fades  in  an  hour ; 
So  the  sweetest  blooms,  from  the  choicest  vine, 
Would  never  do  for  my  valentine, — 
Oh  they  never  would  do  for  my  valentine ! 

But  a  heart  that  is  warm  and  true  like  thine, 

That  will  I  have  for  my  valentine ; 

And    when    songs    are     hushed,    and     blossoms 

depart, 

I  still  shall  be  cheered  by  a  faithful  heart. 
And  if,  in  return,  thou  'it  care  for  mine, 
"Why  take  it,  love,  for  thy  valentine,  — 
Oh  take  it,  love,  for  thy  valentine  I 


78  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Bream  of 


WHEN  the  god  of  sleep  had  touched  me, 
With  his  poppy-wreathed  wand, 

And  in  dreams  I  floated  swiftly, 
All  my  waking  cares  beyond, 

Lo !  you  came  and  stood  beside  me, 
With  the  face  I  loved  of  old,  — 

Eyes  of  azure,  calm  and  tender, 
And  the  hair  of  shadowy  gold ; 

And  you  sat  down  close  beside  me, 
And  you  laid  your  hand  in  mine ; 

And  our  fingers  twined  together, 
Like  the  tendrils  of  the  vine. 


HERE  AND  THERE.  79 


Joyous,  joyous  was  the  meeting, 
For  the  parting  had  been  sad ; 

Sad  farewell  and  weary  waiting 
Make  the  greeting  doubly  glad. 


And  your  clasp  was  warm  and  tender, 
Though  no  word  the  silence  broke ; 

Eye  and  hand  have  still  a  language, 
Fraught  with  meaning  lip  ne'er  spoke. 


Talked  we  then  of  years  departed ; 

And  with  memory  wandered  back 
To  the  day  you  left  our  school-home, 

By  the  green-fringed  Merrimac,  — 


Left  our  sea- washed  Massachusetts,— 
Classmates,  friends,  and  all  the  rest, — 

For  the  old  home  of  your  childhood, 
In  that  fair  State  of  the  West, 


&»0R«^ 


80  SOWC-BLOSSOAfS. 


Where  the  Father  of  the  Waters 

In  a  little  lake  is  born, 
And  the  sunshine  and  the  shadows 

Fall  on  wheat  and  tasseled  corn. 


And  then  everything  seemed  changing,  - 
As  things  do  in  dreams,  you  know ; 

'T  was  our  room  at  school  returning, 
Just  as  't  was  long  years  ago. 


And  the  laugh  of  care-free  maidens 
Flc  >ated  t  hr«  >ugh  the  study  door,  — 

Came  the  hum  of  many  voices, 
Footsteps  on  the  long  hail  floor. 


And  you  read  those  dear  old  ballads, 
You  have  read  to  me  so  oft ; 

And  your  voice  was  low  and  tender, 
And  your  tones  were  sweet  and  soft, 


HERE  AND  THERE.  81 


Till  the  rhythm  seemed  the  murmur 
Of  a  smoothly  flowing  stream, 

And  a  thousand  girlish  fancies 
Mingled  in  the  pleasant  dream. 


But,  while  I  was  joyous  floating 
On  the  waves  of  memory's  tide, 

From  my  own  your  hand  kept  slipping, 
Till  you  drifted  from  my  side. 


First  I  could  not  touch  your  garments ; 

Then  the  distance  grew  apace, 
Till  your  golden  hair  shone  misty, 

And  I  could  not  see  your  face. 


Then  I  woke  —  and,  waking,  called  you, 
By  the  old,  endearing  name ; 

Naught  but  melancholy  echoes 

Through  the  chilly  darkness  came ; 


SONG-BL  OSS  QMS. 


But  the  dream  has  spanned  the  chasms 
'Twixt  the  cities  Now  and  Then ; 

So  at  will  I  cross  the  bridges, 
And  I  walk  with  you  again,  — 


Walk  with  you  in  fields  Elysian, 

Where  our  school-girl  feet  once  strayed, 

When  we  thought  the  world  made  for  us, 
And  our  futures  what  we  prayed ; 


And  the  present  seems  the  brighter, 
For  the  past  that  looks  divine; 

And  your  face  I  see  the  plainer, 
Since  the  vision  that  was  mine. 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE. 


A  T  THE  FIRESIDE.  85 


f>ome  at 


THOUGH  dark  is  the  night,  and  the  rough  way  long, 
I  hum,  as  I  trudge,  an  old  love-song. 
No  gloom  's  in  my  heart,  in  my  frame  no  shiver, 
Though  a  chill  comes  creeping  across  the  river ; 
For  well  I  know,  when  this  steep  is  gained, 
Though  the  stars  be  few,  and  the  moon  has  waned, 


A  light  on  my  path  will  surely  be ! 

It  will  stream  from  the  lamp  my  Rose,  for 

Has  trimmed,  and  placed  on  the  window-sill 

Of  our  dear  little  cot,  just  over  the  hill. 

Each  night,  as  I  plod  through  the  darkness  drear, 

It  sends  me  its  message  of  love  and  cheer. 


86  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ah,  there  it  is  !    What  a  pleasant  glow ! 
Dear  Rose  is  watching  for  me,  I  know ; 
I  'm  a  happy  man,  though  I  own  no  lands, 
And  work  from  morn  until  night  with  my  hands. 
Is  Rose  at  her  knitting  ?    Is  Boy  asleep  ? 
Close  to  the  window  I  softly  creep, 

And  my  own  little  heaven  on  earth  I  see. 

The  kettle  is  singing  right  merrily, 

The  fire  sends  out  its  ruddiest  glow, 

And  supper  waits  on  a  cloth  of  snow ; 

While  Rose,  still  fairer  than  when  we  were  wed, 

Sits  rocking  our  boy  in  his  cradle  bed. 

God  bless  them  both  !  but  what  ails  my  sight  ? 

I  had  n't  noticed  this  mist  to-night. 

She  has  caught  my  step,  she  opens  the  door ! 

Forgotten  the  burdensome  way  travelled  o'er  ; 

For  two  dear  arms  uplifted  I  see, 

And  Rose,  my  Rose,  is  welcoming  me ! 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE. 


tto  Woman  wbo  Uoiletb, 


PLACE  a  spray  in  thy  belt,  or  a  rose  on  thy  stand, 
When  thou  settest  thyself    to  a  commonplace 
Ream; 

Its  beauty  will  brighten  the  work  in  thy  hand, 
Its  fragrance  will  sweeten  each  dream. 


When  life's  petty  details  most  burdensome  seem, 
Take  a  book — it  may  give  thee  the  peace  thou 
hast  sought  — 

And  turn  its  leaves  o'er,  till  thou  catchest  the  gleam 
Of  some  gem  from  the  deep  mine  of  thought. 


SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


When  the  task  thou  performest  is  irksome  and  long, 
Or  thy  brain  is  perplexed  by  a  doubt  or  a  fear, 

Fling  open  the  window,  and  let  in  the  song 
God  hath  taught  to  the  birds  for  thy  cheer. 


And  lean  from  the  casement  a  moment,  and  rest. 
While  the  winds  cool  thy  cheek,  glance  thou  up 

at  the  sky, 
Where   the   cloud-ships   are   sailing,   like    argosies 

blest, 
Bright- winged  and  with  majesty  by. 


Then  steal  a  fair  picture  of  mountain  or  glen  — 
A  smooth-gliding  streamlet,  through  green  mead 
ows  sweet ; 

Or,  if  thy  lot 's  cast  midst  the  dwellings  of  men, 
Of  some  radiant  face  in  the  street. 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE. 


Then  carry  it  back  to  thy  work,  and  perchance 
'T  will  remind  thee  of  childhood,  or  sweetly  recall 

Some  long-faded  page  of  thy  youthful  romance, — 
It  may  be,  the  dearest  of  all. 


Oh,  a  branch  of  wild-roses  the  barrenest  ledge 
Maketh  fit  for  a  throne ;  while  the  blossoming 
vine 

Will  turn  to  a  bower  the  thorniest  hedge ; 
So  will  beauty  make  stern  life  divine. 


90  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ttbe  Xanfc  TBBlbere  We  Hll  t>at>e  JSeeit 


1  KNOW  of  a  land  where  we  all  have  been, 

Yet  never  may  go  again, 
Though  we  're  women  as  brave  as  ever  were  seen, 

Or  the  biggest  and  strongest  of  men. 

In  this  wonderful  land  of  which  I  sing, 

We  never  knew  toil  or  care  ; 
For  someone  stood  ready  to  fetch  and  bring, 

And  we  were  the  rulers  there. 

Though  we  wore  no  crowns  of  gold  or  flowers, 
We  were  kings  and  queens  by  right ; 

And  the  homage  of  love  was  always  ours, 
From  our  subjects,  day  and  night. 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE.  91 


Our  royal  robes  were  embroidered  with  skill, 
Our  beds  were  silken  and  soft ; 

We  lived  in  ease,  and  we  had  our  will, 
And  we  rode  in  our  carriages  oft. 


Whatever  we  did,  the  livelong  day 

We  were  watched  by  admiring  eyes ; 

And  whatever  we  said,  or  did  n't  say, 

We  were  thought  to  be  wondrous  wise. 


And  no  matter  how  peevish  or  cross  we  grew, 

Or  what  tyrants  we  became, 
There  was  one,  at  least,  who  loved  us  so  true, 

That  she  worshipped  us  just  the  same  ; 


And  if  we  were  ill,  or  beset  by  fears, 

She  would  tend  us  with  gentlest  hand, 

And  soothe  us  by  crooning  sweet  songs  in  our  ears 
For  we  lived  in  Babyland. 


SONG-BL  OS  SO  MS. 


Oh  God,  forgive  us  our  tyranny  there  ; 

And  reward,  where'er  they  may  be, 
The  patient  and  loving  souls,  whose  care 

Was  ours  in  our  infancy ! 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE. 


ZTbe    GraMe   in   wbtcb    Jobn 
Bfcams  was 


To  and  fro,  to  and  fro, 

This  queer  little  cradle  used  to  go, 

A  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  ago. 

Then,  as  now,  't  was  devoid  of  grace ; 
No  dainty  frills  of  silk  and  lace 
Softened  the  light  on  the  baby's  face. 

But  the  baby  slept  and  ate  and  grew, 

And  laughed  and  cried  and  prattled  and  crew, 

Just  as  babies  nowadays  do ; 

•On  Exhibition  at  the  World'!  Fair. 


94  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


While  the  cradle  was  gently,  lovingly  swung, 
To  hymns  by  the  fair  young  mother  sung, 
And  the  patriot  father  o'er  it  hung, 

With  a  prayer  on  his  lips  for  his  infant  son. 
They  were  godly  folk.    All  was  prayerfully  done, 
In  those  reverent  days  of  Washington. 

In  England,  King  George  sat  on  his  throne 

And  fancied  these  colonies  all  his  own. 

Ah,  could  he  have  better  the  colonists  known ! 


He  taxed  and  oppressed  them  ;  and  every  hour 
Made  them  feel  the  weight  of  a  tyrant's  power, 
And  sent  over  servants  to  make  them  cower. 


All  day  the  soldiers  of  the  crown, 
The  British  redcoats,  up  and  down, 
Tramped  through  the  streets  of  Boston  town. 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE.  95 


And  the  babe  that  in  this  cradle  lay 
Was  startled  from  sleep  at  break  of  day, 
When  their  fifes  and  drums  began  to  play ; 

But  at  eve  he  was  held  at  the  window  to  see 
The  patriots  called  Sons  of  Liberty, 
While  they  sang  of  a  time  when  the  land  should 
be  free. 

And  the  cradle  hardly  had  been  outgrown 
When  the  boy,  his  mother's  hand  clasping  his 

own, 
Harked  to  the  cannon's  thunder  and  groan 

From  Bunker  Hill ;  and,  with  flashing  eye, 

Saw  the  smoke  clouds  gather  and  mount  on  high, 

And  flaming  Charlestown  light  the  sky. 

But  the  glad  day  came  when  the  nation  was  free, 
And  he  thanked  his  God  upon  bended  knee, 
And  he  cheered  for  the  Union  and  Liberty. 


96  SONG-B  L  OS  SO  MS. 


Then  the  bells  rang  out,  and  the  arms  of  the  crown 
Were    torn    from  the  wall  of    the   Statehouse 

down, 
And  burned  in  the  street  in  Boston  town. 


The  boy  to  a  noble  manhood  grew, 

And  toiled  for  his  country  his  whole  life  through, 

With  honor  unswerving,  courageous,  and  true, 


Till,  his  strength  and  his  years  in  her  service 

spent, 

Aweary,  the  Old  Man  Eloquent 
Sank  at  his  post,  sighing, "  I  am  content." 

But  the  little  cradle  stands  to-day 
Where  thronging  people  may  touch  it  and  say : 
"  Here  once  that  high-souled  statesman  lay ! " 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE.  97 


Gbilfcren's  Saint 


COULD  you  but  peep  into  this  home, 

I  'm  sure  you  'd  say  't  was  cosy ; 
For  sweet-voiced  birds  and  blooming  vines, 

And  child-flowers  gay  and  rosy, 
Make  summer  life  and  joy  within, 

Though  whiter  winds  are  blowing; 
And  not  less  brightly  glows  the  grate 

If  leaden  skies  are  snowing. 


9S  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Dear  grandmamma,  in  cap  of  lace, 

And  kerchief  smoothly  fitting, 
With  graceful  hand  and  placid  face, 

Sits  knitting,  knitting,  knitting,  — 
A  tiny  sock  for  baby  Ray, 

Who  at  her  feet  is  playing ; 
And  Ritchie,  in  the  easy-chair, 

In  mamma's  furs,  goes  sleighing. 


Wee  Annie,  from  her  china  cup, 

Her  own  pet  kitten  's  feeding ; 
Sweet  Mabel,  womanly  of  mien, 

The  latest  tale  is  reading ; 
And  mother  trims  a  little  gown, 

That 's  marvelously  pretty  ; 
While  Aunt  Amelia  makes  a  sketch 

Of  Annie  and  her  kitty. 


AT  THE  FIRESIDE.  99 


Upon  the  walls  are  pictures  hung : 

Landscapes,  with  mild-eyed  cattle ; 
An  ancestor  in  puffs  and  frills  ; 

A  knight  equipped  for  battle  ; 
A  vanished  friend ;  a  sweet-faced  child ; 

A  well-beloved  pastor ; 
And  saints  and  cherubs,  drawn,  perhaps, 

By  some  forgotten  master. 


Down  from  those  dim  and  hovering  shapes, 

With  halo-circled  faces, 
I  look  to  her  whose  patient  life 

Is  spent  in  common  places ; 
Whose  daily  round  of  toil  and  care 

None  know  save  those  beside  her, 
Who  '11  bravely  do  the  task  at  hand 

Though  joy  or  woe  betide  her, 


UHIVBRSIT7 


100  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Will  fashion  tiny  coat  and  gown 

With  swift  and  loving  fingers  ; 
Will  break  the  bread  for  little  mouths, 

And  wipe  the  tear  that  lingers ; 
Will  watch  in  sickness,  guide  in  health, 

This  tenderest  of  mothers ! 
Oh  is  not  she  the  Children's  Saint 

Outshining  all  the  others  ? 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN 


(101) 


WITH  THE    CHILDREN.  103 


Santa  Claus's  Sister- 

WE  stood  at  a  crowded  counter, 

Little  Geraldine  and  I. 
There  was  only  a  day  before  Christmas, 

And  hundreds  were  waiting  to  buy. 


The  shelves  and  the  cases  were  covered, 
And  the  counters  were  piled  up  high, 

With  the  loveliest  things  for  presents, 
Ever  seen  by  a  mortal  eye. 


There  were  books  with  most  beautiful  pictures, 
And  the  strangest,  most  wonderful  toys, 

That  were  brought  from  over  the  ocean, 
On  purpose  for  girls  and  boys. 


104  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


There  were  dolls  that  could  waltz  and  play  tennis, 

In  dresses  of  satin  and  silk ; 
And  horses  to  wind  and  set  trotting, 

And  cows  that  you  really  could  milk. 


There  were  dogs  that  could  bark  like  the  live  ones, 

And  birds  of  most  brilliant  wing, 
With  springs  hid  away  'neath  their  feathers, 

That  would  make  them  fly  upward  and  sing. 


But  the  eyes  of  the  child  who  stood  by  me 
Had  wandered  away  from  all  these,  — 

And  the  sparkling  Christmas  angels 
And  the  miniature  Christmas  trees,  — 


And  were  scanning  the  faces  about  us  — 
The  people  that  huddled  and  pressed, 

And  looked  weary  and  cross  with  the  struggle 
Of  pushing  in  front  of  the  rest; 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN.  105 


And,  grasping  my  hand,  she  whispered, 

With  eager,  childish  grace, 
"  Oh,  that  must  be  Santa  Glaus'  sister, 

She  's  got  such  a  Christmas  face ! ' 


I  looked  where  her  glance  had  lighted ; 

And,  lo  !  in  a  threadbare  gov/n, 
Stood  a  queer  little  bent  old  woman, 

With  a  face  all  wrinkled  and  brown. 


But  the  eyes  that  beamed  out  from  it 
Were  radiant  with  love  and  joy, 

As,  from  all  the  beautiful  objects, 
She  chose  one  poor,  cheap  toy. 


And  the  worn,  brown  face  was  illumined 
With  a  smile  of  good-will  toward  men, 

That  said,  more  plainly  than  language, 
She  was  keeping  Christmas  then. 


10«  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


I  glanced  at  the  forms  about  me ! 

There  were  women  in  rich  attire, 
Whose  unearned  gold  might  purchase 

Fulfilment  of  each  desire. 


There  were  those  of  delicate  feature, 
Of  gentle  breeding  and  race  ; 

But  the  queer  little  bent  old  woman 
Had  the  only  Christmas  face. 


In  shame,  from  my  own  I  hastened 
To  smooth  the  impatience  and  frown, 

As  I  looked  at  Santa  Glaus'  sister, 
In  her  faded  threadbare  gown  ; 


And  I  blessed  both  the  child  and  the  woman, 
For  their  Christmas  sermon  sweet, 

As  I  pressed  through  the  throng  of  shoppers, 
And  into  the  crowded  street. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  107 


H  Wet>Mn0  in  tbe  Garden* 

LADY  ROSE  and  Sweet  William  were  married  last 

night, 

With  Jack-in-the -pulpit  to  tie  the  knot  tight; 
Mary  Gold  for  the  bridesmaid,  in  flutings  of  yel 
low, — 
Wild  Basil  as  groomsman,  a  really  fine  fellow  ! 

Oh  the  Blue  Bells  rang  chimes ;  and  the  Trumpet- 
flower  blew 
All  the  glad  strains  of  music  his  jovial  heart 

knew; 
And  the  Man-in-the-moon  sent  them  down  his  best 

light, 
And  smiled  as  he  gazed  on  the  beautiful  sight. 


108  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


All  the  Lilies  were  there,  in  their  white  fragrant 

gowns ; 
And  the  Sunflowers   stately,  with   great  golden 

crowns ; 

And  the  graceful  young  Poppy,  in  red  satin  frock ; 
And    the    Foxglove    and    Larkspur   and    grand 
Hollyhock ; 


And  the  pretty  Sweet  Pea,  and  the  dear  Mignonette, 
And  a  score  more  of  beauties,  whose  names  I 

forget ; 

For  the  guests  were  as  many  as  found  garden  room. — 
There  were  youth,    lovely  faces,  light,  joy,  and 
perfume ! 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN.  109 


When  Jack-in-the-pulpit  had  made  his  adieu, 
Just  after  the  grand  wedding-supper  was  through, 

The  brave  Lady's  Slipper,  who  'd  walked  from  the 

wood, 
Saying  she  was  created  to  dance,  and  she  should, 


Tiptoed  to  the  music ;  and  all  followed  suit,  — 
Keeping    time    to  the   Trumpet-flower's    merry 

toot-toot,  — 

From  the  Pansies,  in  velvets  of  every  rich  hue, 
To  the  Monkshood  arrayed  in  his  cowl  of  dull 
blue. 


And  the  Primrose,  forgetting  her  prudishness  quite, 
Declared  that  to  dance  was  but  natural  and  right, 

So  joined  in  the  waltz  ;  and,  what  do  you  think  ? 
The  Bachelor  Button,  with  Old  Betty  Pink, 


\ 
110  SONG-B  L  OS  SO  MS. 


Went  whirling    around ;     and  the  sad   Mourning 

Bride 
Was  forgetting  her  grief,  with  the  gay  London 

Pride ; 

When  the  Poppy  grew  sleepy,  and  nodded  good 
night  ; 

Which  broke   up   the  party,  and  all   took  their 
flight. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  Ill 


/IDarie's 


OVER  the  ploughed  ground,  into  the  clover, 
Ralph  and  wee  Jessie,  Marie  and  Rover, 
Fly  like  a  whirlwind.     What  are  they  doing  ? 
Why  are  they  there,  and  what  mischief  is  brewing? 

Our  Ralph  is  just  seven,  a  brave  manly  fellow, 
With  eyes  blue  and  laughing,  and  locks  of  bright 

yellow. 

Wee  Jessie  's  his  sister,  she  's  four  and  a  quarter, 
With  brown  eyes,  and  tresses  like  shadowy  water. 


112  SOATG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  Marie  's  a  lady,  who  's  come  straight  from  Paris, 
And  crossed  the  wide  ocean  with  Aunt  Helen  Harris. 
She  can  't  yet  speak  English,  though  surely  she  's 

learning, 
For   she  looks  very  bright   and   she  seems  quite 

discerning. 

She  is  f air  as  a  lily !  — may  sunshine  ne'er  tan  her !  — 
And  we  greatly  admire  the  repose  in  her  manner. 
Like  her  own  native  language,  she  speaks  Greek  and 

Latin. 
And  she  's  brought  a  whole  trunkful  of  gowns  made 

of  satin. 

Unaccustomed  to  walking  through  ploughed  ground 

or  clover, 

She  rides  on  the  back  of  dear  faithful  old  Rover ; 
And  Ralph,  the  young  beau, —  Hear  him  cheering 

and  calling !  — 
Has  his  arm  round  her  shoulder,  to  keep  her  from 

falling, 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  113 


Oh  dear  me!     What  's  the   matter?     Old  Rover, 

disgracing 

His  age  and  position,  is  bounding  and  racing, 
And  barking  at  swallows.     Shame,  shame !  naughty 

Rover ! 
There  lies  Lady  Marie,  face  down  in  the  clover. 

Oh  run  and  get  water !     I  fear  she  is  dying ! 
Oh  how  she  must  suffer !     How  still  ghe  is  lying ! 
Go  quick,  bring  a  doctor, —  one  skilful  in  healing ! 
No !    see !    she  bleeds  sawdust, —  a   doll    without 
feeling  I 


114  SOWG-BLOSSOAtS. 


LADY  ROSE,  Lady  Rose, 

In  your  fragrant  furbelows, 
You  give  the  winds  sweet  messages, 

Whichever  way  it  blows  ; 
You  send  them  to  the  stranger, 

You  send  them  to  your  friend ; 
From  out  your  store  of  treasure, 

To  other  lives  you  lend. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  115 


Little  bird,  little  bird, 

As  you  sing  upon  your  bough, 
A  hundred  hearts  are  happier 

That  you  are  singing  now ; 
Though  the  sun  is  shining  brightly, 

Or  is  hiding  in  a  cloud, 
You  give  the  world  your  sweetest  songs, 

And  sing  them  brave  and  loud. 

Merry  brook,  merry  brook, 

As  you  dance  upon  your  way, 
The  rose  had  not  the  heart  to  bloom, 

Were  you  not  here  to-day, 
Nor  could  a  thirsty  birdling  trill 

Its  songs  so  sweet  and  gay. 
Oh,  blessings  to  you,  merry  brook, 

As  you  dance  upon  your  way ! 


116  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Precious  girls,  precious  boys, 

Know  you  not  that  you  possess  — 
More  than  rose  or  bird  or  brook, — 

Gifts  of  cheer  and  loveliness  ? 
Thoughts  and  words  and  deeds  of  love, 

Be  you  always  freely  giving, 
And  the  world,  with  all  who  know  you, 

Will  be  richer  for  your  living. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  117 


ft  1F  TPdlere  a  ffio     flnsteafc  of  a  <3frL 


"  OH,  if  I  were  a  boy  instead  of  a  girl!" 

Sighed   little    Kate  Wrenn,  as    she   shook  back  a 

curl, 
And  threw  down  her    mending,  and  made  a  wry 

face, 

"  I  'd  stay  out  all  day,  and  I  'd  run  and  I  'd  race  . 
And  I  'd  pick  lots  of  flowers,  and  I  'd  swing  in  the 

barn ; 

For  I  should  n't  have  any  old  stockings  to  darn ! 
And  I  'd  go   down   to  Annie's,  and  take  my  doll 

Bess, 

A'wearing  my  lovely  new  pink  gingham  dress. 
Oh !  how  perfectly  happy  my  days  would  all  be, 
If  a  pair  of  old  stockings  I  never  need  see  1 " 


118  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


"Ha  ha,    little    sister!"    laughed    loudly  Jack 

Wrenn, 
"  I  guess  you  were  n't  thinking  of  what  you  said 

then; 

For  if  you  were  a  boy,  though  you  had  n't  to  sew, 
You  Jd  find  you  had  errands  in  plenty  to  go ; 
And  you  'd  have  to  make  kindlers,  pile  wood,  and 

rake  hay, 

Instead  of  just  playing  the  whole  livelong  day. 
And  then,  if  you  dressed  like  the  boys  of  this 

town, 
You  'd  have  to  wear  trousers,  and  not  a  pink 

gown; 
And  though  you  'd  have  marbles,  tops,  ninepins 

and  ball, 
You  would  never  have  seen  your  fine  dolly  at  all  I" 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  119 


"  Deary  me,  that  is  true  !  "  in  horror,  cried  Kate, 
As  she  caught  up  a  sock.    "  What  a  terrible  fate ! 
I  just  could  n't  live  without  my  doll  Bess ! 
And  how  dreadful 't  would  be,  to  lose  my  pink 

dress, — 

And  my  blue  one,  and  white,  and  all  of  the  rest ! 
And  how  awkward  and  queer  I  should  feel,  to  be 

drest 

In  jacket  and  trousers ! — and  then,  to  pile  wood, 
And  make  kindlers !  —  Oh  !  really,  I  do  n't  think 

I  could ! 
And  I  do  n't  care  one  penny  for  your  kind  of 

toys; 
Oh  I  'm  glad  I  'm  a  girl,  and  I  pity  the  boys ! " 


120  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


TTbe  prisoner  of  tbe  Snow  fort 


IT  was  cloudy  at  even,  it  stormed  all  night, 
And  when  morning  came  the  world  was  white ; 
And  the  snow  lay  deep  over  hill  and  plain. 
"  Hurrah  ! "  cried  the  boys,  "  we  '11  to  battle  again ! " 


So  they    built  a  great  fort,  of   snowballs    packed 

hard, 

And  they  placed  in  its  walls  a  valiant  guard ; 
Then  the  rest  of  the  boys  —  they  called  themselves 

men  — 
Rushed  gallantly  up  again  and  again. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  121 


The  fort  was  entered,  and  bravely  won  ; 
No  lives  had  been  lost  when  the  battle  was  done ; 
But  the  soldier  who  stood  at  the  entrance  gate 
Refused  to  kneel  unto  foe  or  fate. 

So  he  was  sentenced  to  stay  without  food, 
A  prisoner  fast,  till  he  was  subdued. 
And  the  conquerors  walled  the  fort  up  tight, 
And  left  him  there  in  that  pitiful  plight. 

No  fire  had  he,  not  a  crumb  of  bread ; 

No  chair  to  sit  down  in,  not  even  a  bed. 

He  has  wept   every  day,   and   been   frozen   each 

night ; 
And  his  face  is  as  thin  as  a  ghost's,  and  as  white. 

That  battle  was  fought  a  week  ago  ; 

Yet  he  's  prisoned  there  still,  in  that  fort  of  snow. 

You  say  it  is  cruel  ?   Oh  dear  me,  no  ! 

For  that  is  the  man  that;  they  made  of  snow  1 


122  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


OUR  Kitty  is  five  years  old  to-day ; 

So  she  's  having  a  party,  the  very  best  way, 

Out  under  the  great  green  trees. 
She  's  dressed  all  in  white,  and  has  flowers  in  her 

hand, 
So  even  the  birds  overhead  understand, 

And  are  singing  our  Kitty  to  please. 


Five  children  in  all !     There  is  Kitty  herself, 
Who  's  a  gay  little,  queer  little,  frolicsome  elf ; 

And  beside  her,  her  big  brother  John. 
Then  there  are  her  three  little  cousins  from  town, 
In    their  muslins  of  rose-color,   cream,  and  light 
brown, 

Named  Alice  and  Grace  and  Mignonne. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  123 


The  hammock  is  up  ;  and  in  it  there  sit 
John,  Kitty,  Grace,  Alice  —  a  very  snug  fit ! 

And  gently  they  sway  to  and  fro  ; 
While  close  to  their  feet  —  the  sweet  grass  upon, 
And  weaving  a  beautiful  wreath  —  is  Mignonne ; 

For  Kitty  must  have  one,  you  know. 


John   has   brought   out   a  table ;  it  stands   in   the 

grass  ! 

And  after  the  treat  has  been  spread,  if  you  pass, 
And  the  children's  acquaintance  should  make, 
I  think  they  'd  invite  you  to  come  take  a  seat, 
And  have  strawberries    and    sherbet  and  bonbons 

to  eat, 
And  a  slice  of  the  birthday  cake. 


OF 

TJHIVERSITT 


124  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


OLetter, 


DEAR  FLOSSIE  :    I  wish  I  might  have  something 

better, 

To  send  for  your  birthday,  than  just  a  poor  letter  ; 
But  I  '11  fill  it  with  pictures,  and  write  it  in  rhyme, 
And  find  a  gift  nicer  a  year  from  this  time. 


And  now,  if  some  fairy  would  lend  me  her  wand, 
A 11  the  bright  pretty  playthings,  of  which  you  are 

fond, 
Should  fill  your  hands  full,  and  o'erflow  your  small 

lap, 
And  then,  when  you  woke  from  your  very  next  nap, 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  125 


The  pair  of  fine  ponies,  you  Ve  longed  for  so, 
Should  stand  at  your  door  all  ready  to  go. 
And  oh  !  when  you  went  in  your  carriage  to  ride, 
A  sweet  little  sister  should  sit  by  your  side, 


And  a  coachman  tiny,  hi  livery  gay, 
Should  drive  you  about  all  the  livelong  day ; 
While  as  dainty  a  footman  as  ever  was  seen 
Should  pay  you  the  homage  that 's  due  to  a  queen. 


How  the  ponies  would  prance!   how  their  sleek 

sides  would  shine, 

While  the  sunlight  played  over  their  harnesses  fine ! 
The   coachman's  whip  cracking, — how  merry  the 

sound !  — 
While  ponies  and  carriage  flew  over  the  ground,  — 


126  SOtfG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  on  o'er  the  roads  to  the  city  so  bright ! 

How  the  people  would  stare,  as  you  dashed  into 

sight, 

With  your  liveried  servants,  ablaze  in  the  sun, 
In  their  buttons  of  gold !  — Was  there  ever  such  fun? 


Then  out  from  the  city,  through  village  and  lane, 
On,   on   at  full  speed,  lest  the   bright  day  should 

wane, — 

And  on,  like  the  wind,  past  mountain  and  shore, 
And  still  on,  till  the  long,  happy  day  was  all  o'er, 


And  the  earliest  shadows  of  coming  night, 
Hid  the  earth,  like  a  veil,  from  your  sleepy  sight. 
Then  you  'd  homeward  fly,  as  a  bird  to  its  nest, 
To   mamma's  fond   embrace  —  the  true  place  for 
rest. 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN:  127 


But  here  I  am  listening,  and  listening  in  vain, 
For  the  gentle  tap  on  my  door,  or  my  pane, 
Of  the  fairy  coming  her  wand  to  lend ; 
So,  alas  1  I  have  nothing  but  wishes  to  send. 


But  I  would  put  my  love  in  this  letter  to  you, 
But,  as  true  as  the  sky  that 's  above  us  is  blue, 
JT  is  so  monstrous  big, —  you  '11  believe  it  I  hope  ? 
That  I  can  't  get  it  into  the  envelope. 


128  SONG-ELOSSOAfS. 


Ube  (Tbilt)  anb  tbe  Ester* 


The   personified  flowers  in  this  poem  belong  to  the  Composite 
Family. 

"  OH  beautiful  Aster  !  "  a  little  maid  cried, 
"Please  tell  me,  have  some  of  your  relatives  died? 
For  when  all  else  is  gay,"  said  the  dear  little  girl, 
"You  Asters  wear  nothing  but  purples  and  pearl." 

The  frail  Aster  shivered.     Pray  was  it  a  sigh, 
Or  naught  but  the  breath  of  the  wind  passing  by  ? 
A  bird  twittered  o'erheacl,  the  brook  rippled  on ; 
But  no  word  from  the  Aster  the  little  maid  won. 

"The  sumach  is  blazing  by  wayside  and  down  ; 
On  the  hilltop  the  Goldenrod  gleams  like  a  crown  ! 
The  ripe  ilex  berries,  all  scarlet,  I  see, 
And  the  ivy  hangs  red  on  the  old  apple-tree. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  129 


"  Oh,  the  whole  wood  is  burning  with  crimson  and 

gold! 
See  !  of  gentians  I  've  found  all  my  apron  would 

hold. 

Oh,  when  all  else  is  gay,"  cried  the  sweet  little  girl, 
"  Pray  why  are  you  Asters  in  purples  and  pearl  ? " 


The  Aster  shook  sadly  her  delicate  head. 
"  My  child,  you  Ve  divined  it,"  she  f  alteringly  said ; 
"Our  family  is  broken  ;  I  Ve  watched,  day  by  day, 
My  dearest  of  kin  pass  forever  away. 


"  Oh,  our  race  has  known  fame  !     Of  its  beauty  and 

gold, 

Over  and  over  the  poets  have  told. 
To  the  cities  great  artists  our  pictures  have  borne ; 
But  all  that  is  past !     Is  it  strange  that  I  mourn  ? 


130  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


"  Now  there  were  the  Dandelions,  wealthy  and  gay ; 
The  sweet  blue-eyed  Chicories,  down  by  the  way  ; 
The  great  brown-eyed  Daisies,  who  lived  on   the 

hills ; 
And  their  cousins,  more  fair,  in  their  dainty  white 

frills  ; 

"  The  Ragworts,  that  danced  when  the  plowman's 

voice  rang, 
And   who   heard  all  the  secrets  the  nesting  birds 

sang ; 

And  pretty  Mayweed — she  would  live  in  the  street ; 
And    the   Yarrows,   whose    fringes   drooped    over 

their  feet. 

"And  now  they  're  all  gone  !  and  the  wind  paused  to 

say, 

This  morn  as  he  came  from  the  hills  down  this  way, 
That  poor  Thistle  was  dead ;  and  he  brought  this 

soft  strand 
Of  her  silvery  hair,  to  lay  in  my  hand. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  131 


"  And  Goldenrod  's  aging,  his  plumes  are  less  gay ; 

And  I  and  my  sisters  may  go  any  day. 

E'en  our  Sunflower  is  fading ;  God  bless  her  bright 

face  ! 
Our  family  has  called  her  the  Queen  of  the  Race. 


"  And  now  that  we  Asters  are  almost  alone, 
Do  you  wonder,  dear  child,"  —  low  and  sad  was 

her  tone, — 
"  That  we  're  clad,  as  you  see,  all  in  purples  and 

pearl?" 
Tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  kind  little  girl. 


But  a  moment  they  gleamed,  then  her  bright,  sunny 
smile 

Had  dried  them  all  up,  and  she  answered  mean 
while  : 

"Fair  Aster,  sweet  Aster,  pray  do  not  grieve  so, 

Your  friends  are  not  dead.      Oh,  do  you  not  know, 


SONG-BL  OSSOMS. 


"  That  the  flowers,  now  drooping  on  earth's  loving 

breast, 

Have  only  lain  down  for  their  long  winter's  rest  ? 
They  will  sleep,  'neath  the  cover  the  snow-angels 

spread, 
As  snugly  and  warm  as  a  child  in  its  bed ; 


"And  all  the  late  autumn  and  bleak  winter  through, 
They  will  dream  of  green  fields  and  skies  of  soft 

blue, 
Till  the  robin's  note  rings  through  the  wood  and 

the  glen 
To  wake  them  to  life  ;  then  they  '11  all  bloom  again." 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  133 


Xittle 


THOUGH  the  winds  may  roar  and  the  rains  may 

pour, 

Each  morning  I  hear,  when  the  clock  strikes  four, 
A  step  '  neath  my  window,  —  a  clink  at  my  door. 
Then  I  know,  in  the  corner,  there  stands  a  bright 

can 

Of  the  creamiest  milk  that  ever  there  ran, 
With  a  musical  drip,  into  pail  or  pan. 
"  Who  brings  it  ?  "  you  ask.  "     'T  is  the  milkman's 

task, 

Or  perhaps  his  boy  's,"  you  confident  cry  ; 
But  you  are  mistaken,  and  so  was  I, 
Till  I  peered  through  the  blind,  one  morning,  to 

find 
(And  't  was  such  a  surprise  I  scarce  trusted  my 

eyes) 

That  the  bounding  step  was  a  stout  little  girl's! 
She  had  merry  brown  eyes  and  red-gold  curls,  — 


134  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


This  brave  little  maiden,  with  cans  of  milk  laden, — 
And  went  dancing  along  with  a  snatch  of  sweet 

song, 

As  gay  as  the  robin  that  sang  overhead  ; 
While  I,  in  bewilderment,  crept  back  to  bed  ; 
But   next    morning   I    cried,    when   her    form    I 

espied : 

"  Can  it  be  it  is  you,  who  all  summer  through 
Have   been  bringing  me   milk,  so    sweet   and  so 

new?" 
And  she  laughed,  and  said  "  Yes !     Pray  did  n't 

you  guess 
That  a  girl  could   bring  milk  just   as  well  as  a 

boy?" 
And     with     nod    and    with     smile,    that    were 

pretty  and  coy, 

She  bade  me  adieu,  ran  the  garden  gate  through, 
And   was  gone,  with   her  curls    and  her   cap   of 

bright  blue. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  135 


1foow  Ubes  Started  jfor  tbe  ffair, 

He. 

I  WISH  I  owned  a  ship,  miss ! 

Then  out  to  sea  we  'd  go, 
And  find  a  bran-new  country, 

As  Columbus  did,  you  know. 
Of  course  I  'd  be  the  cap'n ; 

But  you  could  be  the  mate ; 
And  when  I  came  to  glory, 

Why,  you  should  share  my  fate. 
Of  course  I  'd  be  the  king  there, 

And  have  a  golden  throne  ; 
But  I  'd  make  you  queen,  and  give  you 

A  pearl  crown  for  your  own. 
Or  had  I  but  a  carriage, 

I  'd  take  you  out  to  ride ! 
Of  course  I  'd  drive  the  ponies, 

But  you  'd  sit  by  my  side. 


136  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


She. 

'T  is  true  you  have  no  carriage, 

Or  ship  or  golden  throne ; 
But  there  's  that  tandem  'cycle, 

And  is  n't  it  your  own  ? 

He. 

I  never  thought  of  that,  miss ! 

Jump  on,  and  we  will  spin, 
Until  we  reach  Chicago, 

And  to  the  Fair  have  been. 


She  jumped  upon  the  'cycle, 
He  sprang  to  his  seat,  too  ; 

The  wheels  were  set  in  motion, 
And  off  they  quickly  flew  ! 


WITH   THE   CHILDREN.  137 


Helping 

A  Day  in  Webster's  Boyhood. 


MIDST  New  Hampshire's  hills  of  granite, 

Ere  the  century  was  born, 
Stood  a  farmhouse  ;  and  about  it 

Lay  the  pleasant  fields  of  corn. 


Here  Judge  Webster,  judge  and  farmer, 
Dwelt  in  peace,  and  tilled  his  land, 

While  his  two  sons,  Zeke  and  Daniel, 
Lent  to  him  a  helping  hand. 


Two  fine  boys  were  Zeke  and  Daniel, 
Destined  to  be  famous  men, 

And  to  win  and  merit  honors 

Which  they  never  dreamed  of  then. 


138  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Little  thought  the  youthful  Daniel, 
As  he  barefoot  raked  the  hay, 

Of  the  orator  and  statesman 

He  would  find  himself,  one  day, — 


Dreamed  not,  as  his  bright  eyes  sparkled, 
'Neath  his  straw  hat's  broken  brim, 

Of  the  chaplet  fair,  of  oak-leaves, 

That  the  years  would  weave  for  him. 


On  a  bright  midsummer  morning, 
When  the  meadow  grass  was  down, 

Came  a  message  for  the  farmer, 
Calling  to  a  neighboring  town. 


So  he  went,  with  strong  injunctions 
That  the  boys  should  work,  not  play,— 

Do  the  weeding  in  the  garden, 
Turn  and  rake  the  meadow  hay. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  139 


Oh  the  air  was  full  of  sweetness  ! 

Pleasant  was  the  sunshine's  glow, 
On  that  glad  midsummer  morning, 

More  than  fourscore  years  ago. 


Danced  the  boys'  hearts  in  their  bosoms, 
As  the  brook  danced  'neath  the  trees ; 

Every  vine  its  wealth  of  blossoms 
Flung  like  banners  to  the  breeze. 


Every  lily  in  the  meadow 

Noiseless  rang  its  golden  bells  ; 

As  the  heart,  when  joy  is  fullest, 
All  its  joy  in  silence  tells. 


Hummed  the  bees  among  the  clover; 

And  the  gay-winged  butterfly, 
With  its  light  and  airy  motion, 

Flitted  through  the  azure  sky. 


140  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Sang  the  birds  in  blithesome  chorus, 
As  no  birds  ere  sang  before ; 

Brighter  seemed  the  redbreast's  feathers 
Than  a  redbreast  ever  wore. 


Gayly  frisked  the  little  chipmunk, 
Peering  down  with  saucy  face, 

Venturing  nearer,  springing  backward, 
Tempting  to  a  merry  chase. 

Strawberries  ripened  'mong  the  fern-leaves, 

On  the  margin  of  the  brook, 
In  whose  depths  the  speckled  beauties 

Waited  for  the  farm-boy's  hook. 


Hung  the  cherries,  red  and  luscious, 

In  the  tree,  right  overhead. 
Could  a  boy  leave  all  these  treasures,  — 

Just  to  weed  an  onion-bed  ? 


WITH   THE  CHILDREN.  141 


Sped  the  day.  The  joyous  hours, 
One  by  one,  had  all  been  told  ; 

And  the  great  sun,  slowly  sinking, 
Dipped  into  a  sea  of  gold. 


Only  on  a  far-off  hilltop 

Fell  its  last  rays,  like  a  crown, 

When  the  old  judge  —  home  returning 
From  his  long  day  in  the  town  — 


Found  no  weeds  had  been  uprooted, 

In  the  garden  on  the  hill ; 
While  the  corn,  that  should  be  grinding, 

Was  not  carried  to  the  mill. 


Lay  the  long  swaths  in  the  meadow, 
As  at  sunrise  they  were  laid  — 

When  the  dew  was  thick  upon  them  — 
By  the  mower's  shining  blade. 


142  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Though  the  morrow  was  the  Sabbath, 

And  the  hour  already  late, 
Still  the  kine,  with  heavy  udders, 

Waited  at  the  pasture  gate. 


"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  he  questioned, 
"  What  has  happened  here  to-day  ? 

Boys,  what  have  you  done  since  morning  ? 
Have  you  worked,  or  did  you  play  ?  " 


As  in  silence  they  looked  downward  : 

"  Come  my  lads,  why  do  n't  you  speak  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  doing  nothing,  father !  " 
With  contrition,  murmured  Zeke. 


Turning  to  the  embryo  statesman  : 

"  Pray,  what  have  you  done,  young  man  ?  " 

While  his  dark  eyes  brimmed  with  laughter, 
"I  've  helped  Zeke,  sir,"  answered  Dan. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  143 


Bessie's  IRicbes, 


OH,  do  you  know  our  Bessie? 

She  's  rich  as  any  queen, 
Though  stately  hall  or  palace 

She  never  once  has  seen ; 
Though  gown  of  lace  or  satin, 

She  may  not  call  her  own, 
And  silk  or  ermine  mantle 

Ne'er  round  her  form  is  thrown ; 

Though  not  a  diamond  has  she, 

To  sparkle  on  her  hand, 
No  waiting-maid  or  footman, 

To  fly  at  her  command  ; 
Though  neither  plate  nor  jewels 

Will  e'er  be  hers,  I  ween, 
Or  lands  or  lofty  title, 

She  's  rich  as  any  queen ! 


144  SOWG-BLOSSOMS. 


Oh  pray,  where  are  her  riches  ? 

Of  what  do  they  consist  ? 
Has  she  a  wit,  whose  sparkle 

No  mortal  can  resist  ? 
Or  does  her  gold  lie  prisoned 

Within  her  shining  hair  ? 
Or  has  her  face  rare  beauty, 

And  does  her  wealth  lie  there  ? 


Nay,  though  her  wit  is  merry, 

'T  is  naught  to  make  one  vain ; 
Although  her  hair  is  sunny, 

No  gold  does  it  contain  ; 
And,  though  her  face  is  winsome, 

Her  beauty 's  in  her  smile, 
And  in  the  sweet  directness 

Of  a  glance  all  free  from  guile. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  145 


Her  wealth  is  greater,  rarer, 

Than  wit  or  beauty's  dower ! 
Wit  fails  to  render  happy ; 

Beauty  but  has  its  hour ; 
The  riches  she  possesses, 

Our  joyous  little  Bess, 
Lie  in  the  golden  sunshine 

Of  a  heart's  unselfishness. 


146  SOArG-BLOSSOMS. 


ZTbe 

DIRECTIONS. 

THE  stage  should  be  carpeted  with  green,  and  strewn  with  flowers. 
It  would  be  pretty  to  have  boughs  or  small  trees  arranged  at  the  back 
of  the  stage  so  as  to  cover  the  wall,  upon  these  boughs  two  or  three 
straw  hats,  trimmed  with  wreaths  or  bright-colored  ribbons,  should  be 
carelessly  hung.  The  number  of  children,  among  whom  should  be  a  few 
little  boys,  need  be  limited  only  by  the  size  of  the  stage,  care,  of  course, 
being  taken  that  they  are  not  huddled  or  crowded.  Very  small 
children,  who  cannot  sing,  may  be  introduced,  with  pleasing  effect,  in 
grouping. 

The  throne,  which,  in  scenes  first  and  second,  occupies  the  centre  of 
the  stage,  can  be  easily  arranged  by  using  empty  boxes,  covered  with 
bright  shawls  and  sofa-cushions.  In  scene  second  an  arch  of  flowers 
should  be  held  over  the  queen.  It  can  be  a  barrel-hoop,  wound  with 
leaves  and  flowers.  The  end  should  be  held,  on  either  side,  by  a  little 
boy  dressed  in  page's  costume.  The  crown  should  be  placed  upon  the 
head  of  the  queen  by  the  first  maid  of  honor,  immediately  after  the  five 
have  recited  their  verses.  As  soon  as  the  crown  has  been  adjusted,  the 
sceptre  should  be  handed  to  the  queen  by  the  second  maid  of  honor. 

At  the  moment  when  the  crown  is  placed  upon  the  head  of  the  queen 
each  girl  should  raise  a  simple  wreath  of  flowers  to  her  own  head,  where 
it  should  remain  through  scenes  second  and  third. 

The  dresses  of  all  the  girls  may  be  white,  with  bright  sashes,  or  trim 
ming  of  flowers  ;  or,  for  variety,  some  may  wear  thin  dresses  of  gay 
colors. 

At  the  close  of  the  second  scene  the  throne  is  carried  from  the  stage, 
and  the  maypole  substituted,  ready  for  scene  third.  The  maypole 
should  be  adorned  at  top  and  base  with  wreaths.  If  the  ribbons  are  not 
to  be  braided  by  the  children,  the  pole  should  be  wreathed  with  flowei-s 
its  entire  length,  and  the  ribbons  dispensed  with;  in  which  case  the 
children  should  form  two  circles  about  the  pole,  one  within  the  other, 
and  the  circles  should  move  in  opposite  directions.  Of  course  the  chil 
dren  should  keep  perfect  time  to  the  music. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN'.  147 


In  scene  first  the  children  should  be  in  natural  groups  at  the  front 
of  the  stage,  and  about  the  empty  throne,  some  standing,  some  sitting, 
winding  wreaths  or  arranging  bouquets.  Between  scenes  first  and 
second  the  groups  should  be  broken  up  and  new  ones  formed. 

Each  maid  of  honor  carries  a  garland  or  bouquet,  composed  of  the 
flowers  mentioned  in  her  verse.  These  garlands  and  bouquets  are  to  be 
handed  to  the  queen  as  soon  as  she  has  received  her  crown  and  sceptre. 
As  there  will  be  more  than  she  can  gracefully  receive  in  hand  or  lap, 
they  may  be  placed  on  her  shoulders,  the  throne,  or  at  her  feet.  The 
queen  is  seated  on  the  throne  when  scene  second  opens. 

Any  other  tunes  than  the  ones  indicated,  if  familiar  and  sprightly, 
may  be  used  for  the  songs. 


SCENE  I. 
OPENING    SONG. 

(To  be  suncj  by  all.) 
Tune:    Oh  Swiftly  Glides  our  Bonny  Boat. 

WITH  hearts  as  light  as  thistledown, 

We  meet  upon  this  green, 
With  feet  that  all  impatient  wait 

To  dance  about  our  queen. 

But  who,  among  the  merry  group, 

Shall  sit  upon  our  throne, 
And  wear  the  crown  of  flowerets  bright, 

The  sweetest  ever  blown  ? 


148  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Oh,  wise  and  gentle,  passing  fair, 
Our  gracious  queen  must  be  ; 

With  heart  and  hand  unsullied  as 
The  pure  anemone. 


With  lips  whose  sunny  smile  betrays 

A  nature  warm  and  true, 
And  eyes  her  subjects'  griefs  can  turn 

To  violets  wet  with  dew. 


Oh  who,  of  all  this  merry  group, 

Shall  sit  upon  our  throne, 
And  wear  the  crown  of  flowerets  bright, 

The  sweetest  ever  blown  ? 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  149 


SCENE  II. 
CROWNING   THE    QUEEN. 

Tune  :  When  the  Day  with  Rosy  Light. 

EKE  the  golden  beams  of  morning 
From  her  slumbers  waked  the  dell, 

While  the  birds  their  matins  mingled 
With  the  sound  of  pasture  bell, 


Roamed  we  over  hill  and  valley, 

Through  the  wood  and  meadow  green, 

Culling  flowers  both  bright  and  fragrant, 
Flowers  to  deck  our  Mayday  queen. 


The  next  five  verses  are  to  be  recited  in  turn  by  the  five  maids  of 
honor. 


150  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


HASTENED  I  unto  the  meadow ; 

There,  above  the  rich  brown  mold, 
Myriad  cowslips  caught  the  sunbeams, 

In  their  shining  cups  of  gold. 

Wandered  I  beside  the  brooklet ; 

There,  beneath  my  springing  feet, 
Violets,  white  and  blue  and  purple, 

Made  each  passing  zephyr  sweet. 


3.  Fair  hepaticas  I  gathered, 

On  the  brow  of  yonder  hill, 
And  Cassandra's  dainty  bell-flowers 
Found  I  by  the  ruined  mill. 

4.  Clambered  I  o'er  roughest  ledges, 

Lichen-painted,  gray  with  age, 
Where  the  columbine  glowed  scarlet, 
By  the  snowy  saxifrage. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  151 


5.         'Neath  the  pines  whose  swaying  branches 

Make  low  music  overhead, 
Found  I  wind-flowers,  pale  and  fragile, 
Where  arbutus  had  blushed  red. 


These  two  verses  may  he  recited  hy  one  of  the  maids  of  honor,  or 
sung  by  them  all  together,  as  one  girl  crowns  the  queen. 


TAKE  our  offerings,  gracious  sovereign, 

Violet,  pink,  anemone ; 
Wear  the  crown,  accept  the  garlands, 

We  have  fondly  twined  for  thee. 


May  thy  reign  be  bright  and  joyous, 
Light  the  burdens  thou  shalt  bear  ; 

May  thy  heart  contain  no  sorrow, 
And  thy  crown  no  thorn  of  care. 


152  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


THE  QUEEN'S  REPLY. 


GBATEFULLY,  my  little  maidens, 
Will  I  take  the  garlands  fair  ; 

Eagerly  I  '11  strive,  and  always, 
To  be  worth  the  love  ye  bear. 


And  as  May,  the  radiant  goddess, 
Gems  our  way  with  brightest  flowers, 

So,  with  mirth  and  joy  and  gladness, 
Will  I  crown  your  passing  hours. 


Now  before  the  shadows  lengthen, 
Ere  the  night  draws  on  apace, 

Let  the  sounds  of  dance  and  chorus 
Echo  through  this  sylvan  place. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN.  153 

SCENE  III. 
THE   MAYPOLE  DANCE. 

The  music  and  dancing  are  heard  before  the  children  are  seen.  The 
rising  curtain  discloses  the  dance  in  progress,  when  the  verse  has  been 
sung  once;  after  which,  without  any  pause,  it  is  repeated  once  or  twice; 
that  is,  long  enough  to  make  the  scene  of  satisfactory  length.  The  cur 
tain  should  fall  while  the  tableau  is  still  moving. 

Tune:    Lightly  Bow. 
CHORUS. 

HEBE  we  go,  here  we  go, 
Tripping  lightly  to  and  fro, 
Round  and  round,  round  and  round, 
With  the  queen  we  've  crowned. 
While  the  brooklet  yonder  seen, 
While  the  shadows  on  the  green, 
Dance  and  glide,  dance  and  glide, 
Dance  we  side  by  side. 


154  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Song* 


GREENLY  grow,  oh  trees  we  've  planted, 
May  your  fair  leaves  multiply, 

And  the  nesting  song-birds  yearly 
To  your  spreading  branches  fly. 


Crown  the  landscape  with  your  beauty ; 

Freely  give  your  fruit  and  shade ; 
Make  ten  thousand  hearts  more  happy, 

For  the  efforts  we  have  made  1 


Heaven  send  you  showers  and  sunshine,- 
Spare  from  gale  and  lightning  stroke ; 

And  may  winter,  while  he  's  reigning, 
Wrap  you  in  his  ermine  cloak. 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD. 


(155) 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  157 


<S>ur  Cbrtetmaa. 


WE  did  n't  have  much  of  a  Christmas, 

My  papa  and  Rosie  and  me, 
For  mamma  'd  gone  out  to  the  prison, 

To  trim  up  the  poor  prisoners'  tree ; 
And  Ethel,  my  big  grown-up  sister, 

Was  down  at  the  'sylum  all  day, 
To  help  at  the  great  turkey  dinner, 

And  teach  games  for  the  orphans  to  play. 
She  belongs  to  a  club  of  young  ladies, 

With  a  "  beautiful  object,"  they  say; 
'T  is  to  go  among  poor,  lonesome  children, 

And  make  all  their  sad  hearts  more  gay. 


And  auntie  (You  do  n't  know  my  auntie  ? 

She 's  my  own  papa's  half-sister  Kate !) 
She  was  'bliged  to  be  round  at  the  chapel 

Till  Jt  was  —  oh,  some  time  dreadfully  late  ; 


158  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


For  she  pities  the  poor  worn-out  curate, 

His  burdens,  she  says,  are  so  great ; 
So  she  'ranges  the  flowers  and  the  music, 

And  he  goes  home  around  by  our  gate. 
I  should  think  this  way  must  be  the  longest, 

But  then,  I  suppose  he  knows  best ; 
Aunt  Kate  says  he  intones  most  splendid ; 

And  his  name  is  Vane  Algernon  West. 

My  papa  had  bought  a  big  turkey, 

And  had  it  sent  home  Christmas  Eve  ; 
But  there  was  n't  a  soul  here  to  cook  it ; 

You  see  Bridget  had  threatened  to  leave 
If  she  could  n't  go  off  with  her  cousin, 

(He  does  n't  look  like  her  one  bit !  ) 
She  says  she  belongs  to  a  union, 

And  the  union  won't  let  her  submit ; 
So  we  ate  bread  and  milk  for  our  dinner, 

And  some  raisins  and  candy  ;   and  then 
Rose  and  me  went  down  stairs  to  the  pantry, 

To  look  at  the  turkey  again. 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  159 


Papa  said  he  would  take  us  out  riding ; 

Then  he  thought  that  he  did  n't  quite  dare, 
For  Rosie  'd  got   cold  and  kept  coughing, — 

There  were  dampness  and  chills  in  the  air. 
Oh,  the  day  was  so  long  and  so  lonesome, 

And  our  papa  was  lonesome  as  we  ; 
And  the  parlor  was  dreary —  no  sunshine ! 

And  all  the  sweet  roses,  the  tea 
And  the  red  ones  —  and  ferns  and  carnations, 

That  have  made  our  bay  window  so  bright,- 
Mamma  'd  picked  for  the  men  at  the  prison, 

To  make  their  bad  hearts  pure  and  white. 

And  we  all  sat  up  close  to  the  window, 

Rose  and  me  on  our  papa's  two  knees, 
And  we  counted  the  dear  little  birdies 

That  were  hopping  about  on  the  trees. 
Rosie  wanted  to  be  a  brown  sparrow, 

But  I  thought  I  would  rather,  by  far, 
Be  a  robin  that  flies  away  winters, 

Where  the  sunshine  and  gay  blossoms  are. 


160  SOA^G-BLOSSOMS. 


And  papa  wished  he  was  a  jailbird, 

'Cause  he  thought  that  they  fared  the  best ; 

But  we  all  were  real  glad  we  were  n't  turkeys, 
For  then  we  'd  been  killed  with  the  rest. 


That  night  I  put  into  my  praying  : 

"Dear  God,  we  've  been  lonesome  today ; 
For  mamma,  aunt,  Ethel,  and  Bridget, 

Every  one  of  them  all  went  away. 
Won't  you  please  make  a  club,  or  society, 

'Fore  it  's  time  for  next  Christmas  to  be, 
To  take  care  of  philanterpist's  families, 

Like  papa  and  Rosie  and  me  ?  " 
And  I  think  that  my  papa  's  grown  pious, 

For  he  listened  as  still  as  a  mouse, 
Till  I  got  to  Amen,  then  he  said  it ; 

So  it  sounded  all  over  the  house. 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  161 


Ube 


The  mugwump  is  an  eastern  bird, 

With  plumes  of  gorgeous  hue; 
His  crest  is  red,  his  bosom  white, 

His  wings  celestial  blue. 

DR.  WILLIAM  EVERETT. 

THOUGH  all  the  ornithologists, 

That  ever  bagged  a  bird, 
Should  claim  the  mugwump  for  their  own, 

I  still  should  doubt  their  word. 


The  mugwump  's  a  chameleon, 

Of  ever-varying  hue, 
Whose  color  's  stolen  from  the  scene 

It  chances  to  pass  through. 

When  through  the  wood  of  ignorance, 

It  rash  and  stumbling  fled 
(Leaving  the  Good  Old  Party) 

The  Democrats  to  wed, 


102  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Its  color  (doubt  it,  you  who  will ! ) 

Was,  naturally,  green ; 
And  of  a  tint  as  vivid 

As  ever  yet  was  seen. 


But  now,  flung  o'er  it  from  the  dawn 

Of  late- seen  truths,  a  hue 
Creeps  from  its  nose  down  to  its  tail, 

Which  much  resembles  blue. 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  163 


Ube  Jealous  (3bost 


ONE  winter's  night,  a  merry  group, 
We  watched  the  hearthfire  glow  ; 

While  wildly  raged  the  storm  without, 
And  drifted  deep  the  snow. 


It  dashed  against  the  window-pane, 
Heaped  high  the  oaken  sill ; 

And  whirled  in  clouds  across  the  lawn, 
And  down  the  barren  hill. 


Yet  swift  the  stream  of  converse  flowed ; 

While  on  its  surface  broke 
Those  laughter- bubbles,  now  and  then, 

That  mirth  and  jest  evoke. 


164  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  all  unheeded  sped  the  hours, 
Whose  wings  no  shadows  cast, 

Until,  with  pinions  slightly  drooped, 
The  midnight  hour  lagged  past ; 


And  laugh  and  song  were  more  subdued, 

And  chat  less  merry  grew  ; 
The  flames  that  lapped  the  smouldering  log 

Had  turned  to  spectral  blue. 

The  storm  was  spent  ;  the  wind,  grown  hoarse, 

Was  only  heard  to  moan  ; 
While,  struggling  through  the  drifting  clouds, 

A  young  moon  faintly  shone 


On  whitened  twigs  of  leafless  trees, 
That  ceaseless  tapped  the  pane,  — 

As  fingers  of  a  ghost,  that  seeks 
Some  entrance  hard  to  gain; 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  165 


And,  gazing  through  the  shadeless  sash, 

Out  on  the  snowclad  night, 
Fantastic  forms  seemed  moving,  in 

The  pale  moon's  fitful  light. 


Forgotten  now  are  men  and  things, 
The  books  upon  the  shelves ; 

And  conversation  straightway  turns 
To  goblins,  ghosts,  and  elves. 


And  each  his  tale  of  horror  pours 

Upon  the  listening  ear, 
Till  our  own  shadows,  on  the  wall, 

Strange  phantom  shapes  appear, 

To  all  save  one,  of  stronger  nerve, 

(It  is  our  youthful  host) 
Who  still  avers  that  he,  for  one, 

Should  like  to  see  a  ghost. 


166  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Darker  it  grows  !  The  pale  blue  flames 
Scarce  show  the  flower-strewn  rugs, 

While  all  the  air  is  quickly  filled 
With  subtle  scent  of  drugs. 


The  candles  have  each  flickered  out ; 

The  moon  is  in  a  cloud. 
Lo  !  hi  our  midst  a  spectre  stands, 

Draped  in  a  long  white  shroud. 


From  out  the  caverns  of  his  eyes 
Shoot  tongues  of  greenish  fire  ; 

His  bony  hand  clasps  tight  a  wand, 
Set  thick  with  many  a  brier. 

Incongruous  is  the  robe,  or  shroud, 
Which  round  his  gaunt  form  curls ; 

For,  while  it  savors  of  the  grave, 
'T  is  richly  fringed  with  pearls. 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  167 


He  turns  upon  our  trembling  host. 

His  low,  sepulchral  tones 
Are  echoed  by  the  dying  wind, 

Which  faintly  wails  and  moans. 


"  From  out  the  land  of  shades  came  I, 
Long  have  I  wandered  here, 

Seeking  in  vain,  until  tonight, 
To  gain  a  human  ear, 


"  That  I  might  give  unto  the  world 
The  story  of  my  wrongs  ; 

And  claim  the  wreath  another  wears, 
That  on  my  brow  belongs. 


"Men  make  great  feasts  to  Hahnemann, 
They  speak  his  name  with  awe  ; 

Sacred  his  memory  to  the  world, 
His  lightest  whim  a  law  ; 


168  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


"  While  I,  from  whom  he  stole  those  truths, 

On  which  rests  all  his  fame, 
Have  been  forgotten,  or  ignored, 

And  none  have  heard  my  name. 


"  Similia  similibus 

Curantur,"  mutters  he  ! 
"  Know  ye  I  was  the  pioneer 

In  Homoeopathy. 


"  I  was  the  man"  (his  eyes  dilate, 
His  tones  to  thunder  rise) 

"  Who  jumped  into  a  bramble  bush, 
And  scratched  out  both  his  eyes ; ! 

(A  groan,  as  if  he  still  recalls 

The  agonizing  pain) 
"  Then  jumped  into  another  bush, 

And  scratched  them  in  again." 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  169 


His  errand  done,  our  curious  guest 
Seems  meditating  flight ; 

But,  ere  the  apparition  strange 
Has  vanished  from  our  sight, 


The  wasted  hearth-log  breaks  and  falls, 
A  bright  flame  leaps  and  curls, 

And  flings  its  light  across  the  fringe, 
We  thought  was  made  of  pearls, 


Which  borders  deep  the  ornate  gown, 
And  droops  from  all  its  frills  ; 

And  lo !  our  fancied  pearls  are  naught 
But  tiny  sugar  pills. 


170  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Hnfcrea'9  Discovery, 


WE  sat  and  talked  of  storied  days, 

Of  men  whose  lives  were  brave  and  bold ; 

Then  of  the  minstrels,  whose  sweet  lays 
Then*  deeds  of  chivalry  have  told. 


And  one  cried  out :     "  How  strange  a  thing, 
That  human  speech  should  fall  in  rhyme  ! 

And  that  the  words  our  poets  sing 

Should  smoothly  flow  in  measured  time.  " 


Another  sought  the  laws  that  be, 
Whereby  a  rhythmic  tale  is  told, 

And  fain  would  find  some  recipe 
By  which  a  poem  would  unfold. 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  171 


And,  knowing  I  must  guilty  plead 
To  writing  out,  from  time  to  time, 

In  homespun  phrase,  for  folk  to  read, 
Some  simple  verse,  or  tale  in  rhyme, 


With  one  accord  they  turned  to  me, 

And  cried  :     "  Pray,  if  you  can,  explain 

This  ever-baffling  mystery !  "  — 
But  questioning  me  was  all  in  vain. 


When  from  the  group  I  soon  withdrew, 
And  turned  me  to  my  desk  to  write, 

A  little  maiden,  three  times  two, 
Came  after  me  on  tiptoes  light. 

"  Do  let  me  stay !    I '  11  be  so  good ! " 
She  pleaded  with  a  winsome  laugh  ; 

And  by  my  chair  she  silent  stood, 

While  click-clack  went  the  calligraph. 


172  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


As  o'er  the  keys  my  fingers  flew 
Her  face  a  look  bewildered  wore, 

Till  from  the  roll  came  creeping  through 
A  leaf  that  printed  verses  bore. 


At  first  the  child  amazed  stood  dumb ; 

Then  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried  in  glee 
*'I  know  now  how  your  poems  come, — 

You  make  'em  with  your  'chinery ! " 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  173 


Ube  THsurer'0  1Repl£. 


HERB  BLUMENTHAL, — a  Jew  who  dwelt 

Beside  the  pleasant  Rhine, 
Whose  waters  lave  the  feet  of  hills 

Crowned  by  the  fruitful  vine, — 


With  wealth  possessed,  and  rightful  gain, 

Could  never  be  content ; 
So  rented  out  his  store  of  gold 

At  nine,  not  six,  percent. 


"  Herr  Blumenthal,"  said  one,  "  although 

You  do  our  Christ  deny, 
You  cannot  for  a  moment  doubt 

There  is  a  God  on  high, — 


174  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


"  A  God  who  sees  all  things  you  do, 
Down  looking  from  above ; 

And  can  He  bless  a  usurer, 
This  God  of  right  and  love  ?" 


The  Jew,  on  parchment  by  his  side, 

A  bony  finger  laid, 
And  muttered,  half  beneath  his  breath, 

"  Olt  Isaac  ist  not  vraidt. 


"  Mine  Gott  vill  never  know  dot  I 
Vor  moneys  sharge  too  tear; 

Vor,  ven  he  look  from  Himmel  high, 
Down  on  dese  vigures  here," 

(And  craftier  smile  ne'er  lit  the  face 
Of  Jew  beside  the  Rhine), 

"  Dis  vill  to  him  appear  a  6, 
Dot  to  our  eyes  ist  9." 


IN  LIGHTSOME  MOOD.  175 


Efcvtce  to  a  Despairing  %over. 


LOVER,  sighing  in  despair, 
All  because  a  maiden  fair 
Deigneth  not  for  thee  to  care, 

Quit  thy  dreaming !    List  to  me, 
If  I  may  thy  mentor  be  ; 
There  is  still  a  chance  for  thee  1 

I  Ve  a  secret  I  '11  impart, 

That  will  give  to  thee  the  art 

Of  winning  this  fair  maiden's  heart. 

Rouse  thyself  !  attention  lend  I 
Every  dart  that  lovers  send 
Hath  a  barb  at  either  end. 

When  another  shaft  is  thrown, 
Keep  thine  own  heart  hard  as  stone  ; 
'  T  will,  rebounding,  pierce  her  own. 


176  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Wben  ipusbefc  to  tbe  Mail. 

IF  you  're  harassed  and  hurried, 

And  driven  and  worried, 
And  given  no  quarter  at  all  ; 

If  you  're  wounded  and  grieved, 

Traduced  and  deceived, 
Till  the  nectar  of  life  turns  to  gall  ; 

If  you  're  cheated  and  swindled, 

Till,  credit  all  dwindled, 
You  stand  face  to  face  with  despair ; 

If  beggars  pursue, 

And  debts  are  o'erdue, 
Till  you  scarce  own  the  shoes  that  you  wear  ; 

In  short,  if  in  spite 

Of  the  manliest  fight, 
You  find  yourself  pushed  to  the  wall  ; 

Do  n't  bang  your  head  on  it, 

But  sit  down  upon  it, 
And  rest,  ere  you  struggle  at  all. 


GREETINGS, 


J77 


GREETINGS.  179 


Hn  ®lb  (SUt^jfasbionefc  jflower. 

To  Whittler. 

WITH  gift  of  blossoms  sweet  and  gay, 
Dear  poet,  I  would  mark  the  day 

When  you  were  sent  the  earth  to  cheer  ; 
Yet  feel,  who  dwells  near  nature's  heart, 
The  flowers  that  bloom  through  human  art, 

Than  those  God-given,  would  hold  less  dear. 


But  when  without  I  turn  my  eye, 
The  naked  branches  'gainst  the  sky, 

And  fallen  leaves  that  heap  the  ground, 
Tell  me  that  in  no  sheltered  nook, 
By  woodland  path  or  meadow  brook, 

Is  there  one  blossom  to  be  found. 


180  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  vainly,  too,  within  my  mind 

I  look,  some  flower  of  thought  to  find, 

So  newly  bright,  so  freshly  sweet, 
That  each  word-petal  seems  to  bear 
A  message  rich  and  fine  and  rare, 

An  offering  for  a  poet  meet. 

So  send  I  —  I  Ve  naught  else  —  a  flower, 
That  blooms  as  free  when  field  and  bower 

No  longer  bee  and  blossom  know, 
As  when,  to  tunes  the  blithe  birds  sing, 
Mid  troops  of  flowers  that  dance  and  swing, 

The  summer  breezes  come  and  go. 

An  old,  old-fashioned  flower,  whose  seed 
The  angels  — 'tis  their  sweetest  deed  !  — 

Once  scattered  earthward  from  above  ; 
And,  rooting  in  men's  hearts,  it  grew, 
And  blossoms  still,  the  whole  year  through,- 

The  old,  old-fashioned  flower  of  love. 


GREETINGS.  181 


IRovember  Greeting 


THIS  morn  I  flung  open  my  casement, 
As  the  day  was  beginning  to  wake. 

"  What  means  it  ?  "   I  cried  in  amazement, 
As  I  watched  the  clouds  kindle  and  break ; 


For  the  great  sun  came  up  in  full  splendor, 

The  river  reflected  its  glow, 
And  the  blue  skies  were  shining  and  tender, 

Like  the  eyes  of  a  maiden  I  know. 


"  Why  this  glory,"  I  cried,  "in  November? 

The  world  must  be  having  a  fete !  " 
But  just  then  I  chanced  to  remember, 

Or  the  calendar  told  me,  the  date. 


183  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Then  the  mystery  lifted  and  vanished, 
As  the  clouds  of  the  morning  had  done  ; 

All  feelings  of  wonder  were  banished, 

For  I  knew  't  was  your  birthday,  dear  one. 


And  the  heavens  had  but  smiled  on  then-  daughter, 
And  rejoiced  in  the  day  of  her  birth ; 

And  their  joy  had  been  caught  by  the  water, 
For  her  life  had  made  sunshine  on  earth 


GREETINGS.  183 


Greeting  wftb  Bluebells. 


WEEE  I  the  summer  breeze,  dear  girl, 
And  did  each  azure  bell  conceal 

A  silvery  tongue  of  joyous  tone, 
I  'd  make  them  sound  a  merry  peaL 


I  'd  madly  play  among  the  flowers, 
Each  fairy  bell  I  'd  toss  and  swing, 

Until  the  echoes  gave  again 
The  birthday  chime  I  'd  gaily  ring. 


But  since  I  'm  not  the  summer  breeze, 

And  since  these  bells  may  sound  no  chime, 

I  sing  my  love,  my  wishes  kind, 

And  send  instead  this  simple  rhyme. , 


184  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Cbime  for  September 


HEIGH'O  and  heigh'  o  and  o'heigh  ! 

So  gay  are  your  wedding-bells  ringing, 
Their  echoes,  in  frolicking  by, 

Have  set  all  my  rhyme-bells  to  swinging. 


And  the  merriest  music  they  know, 

With  the  chimes  for  your  bridal  fchall  mingle ; 
Hetgh'o  and  o'heigh  and  heigh'o  ! 

Be  you  happier  wedded  than  single ! 


Aurora,  as  S6on  as  't  waft  day, 

From  the  sky  hung  a  beautiful  aw&ing; 
A  sign  be  its  rosy  hues  gay, 

Of  the  life  that  before  you  is  dawning  1 


GREETINGS.  185 


May  the  golden-rod,  bright  on  the  hill, 

Stand  a  pledge,  in  its  wealth  and  its  splendor, 

Of  the  riches  of  love  that  shall  fill 

Your  hearts,  be  they  loyal  and  tender ! 


And  the  beauty  that 's  everywhere  rife, 
This  glorious  month  of  September, 

Prove  a  type  of  your  union,  till  life 

Shall  have  burnt  out  its  very  last  ember ! 

Heigh'o  and  heigh'o  and  o'heigh  ! 

So  gay  are  your  wedding-bells  ringing, 
Their  echoes,  in  frolicking  by, 

Have  set  all  my  rhyme-bells  to  swinging. 


And  the  merriest  music  they  know, 

With  the  chimes  for  your  bridal  shall  mingle  ; 
Heigh'o  and  o'heigh  and  heigh'o! 

Be  you  happier  wedded  than  single  ! 


186  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


TKHelcome  to 


COMING  in  the  bright  midsummer, 
When  the  blossoms  deck  the  bowers, 

Mayst  thou,  little  heaven-sent  treasure, 
Prove  the  fairest  flower  of  flowers. 


May  the  fates,  thy  future  weaving, 
Hovering  o  'er  thy  dainty  bed, 

Make  thy  life-web  one  of  beauty, 
Shower  blessings  on  thy  head,  — 

Fill  thy  heart  with  joy  and  sunshine, 
Keep  thee  free  from  all  alarms, 

As  thou  art  when  sweetly  sleeping, 
In  thy  mother's  loving  arms. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


cwn 


TRANSLATIONS.  189 


Ube  fountain  Emigrant, 

From  the  French  of  Chateaubriand. 

How  sweetly,  as  I  dream,  advance 
The  scenes  that  earliest  met  my  glance ! 

Ah  sister,  those  were  golden  days, 
Those  days  in  France. 

My  land,  be  thou  my  love  always, 

My  love  always ! 

Canst  still  recall  our  mother's  face  ? 
And  how,  before  the  bright  fireplace, 

She  drew  us  evenings  to  her  chair 
With  tender  grace  ? 

And  how  we  fondly  stroked  her  hair, 

So  long  and  fair  ? 


190  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ah  sister,  dost  thou  see  it  all,  — 

The  castle  gray,  whose  moss-grown  hall 

The  bright  Dore  washed, —  the  Moorish  tower, 
With  crumbling  wall, 
Whose  ponderous  bell,  at  sunrise  hour, 

Rang  out  with  power? — 

The  lake,  that  lay  as  if  at  rest, 

While  swallows  skimmed  its  tranquil  breast, — 

The  breeze  that  swayed  the  rush,  and  tanned 
Its  bright  brown  crest,  — 

The  sinking  sun,  whose  beauty  grand 

Flushed  wave  and  land  ? 


And  she,  whose  life  lent  joy  to  mine  : 
How  oft  the  pretty  flowering  vine 

We  Ve  sought  beneath  the  old  wood's  shade, 
Her  hand  in  mine  ; 

Her  cheek,  as  there  we  strayed, 

To  mine  was  laid. 


TRANS  LA  TIONS.  191 


Ah,  who  '11  bring  Helen  back  to  me, — 
My  mountain  grand,  —  the  old  oak  tree  ? 

Their  memory  sweet,  through  all  my  days, 
A  pain  must  be ! 

My  land  must  be  my  love  always, — 

My  love  always ! 


192  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Carcassonne. 

From  the  French  of  Gustave  Nadaud. 


I  'M  sixty  years,  I  'm  growing  old  ; 

Through  all  my  days  I  've  wrought  with  care ; 
Yet  never,  as  the  seasons  rolled, 

Has  come  fulfilment  of  my  prayer. 
I  see,  indeed,  that  while  we  live, 

Our  bliss  complete  is  never  known  ; 
My  heart's  desire  earth  will  not  give; 

I  never  went  to  Carcassonne. 


TRANS  LA  TIONS. 


'T  is  dimly  seen  from  yonder  heights, 

Behind  the  hills  that  melt  in  blue  ; 
And  yet,  to  view  its  wondrous  sights, 

Five  weary  leagues  stretch  out  for  you  ; 
And  to  return,  as  many  more. 

Ah,  if  the  tardy  grape  were  grown, 
And  all  the  work  of  vintage  o'er !  — 

I  never  shall  see  Carcassonne ! 


They  tell  me  there  't  is  always  gay, 

As  Sundays  are  in  little  towns. 
The  people  go  about,  they  say, 

In  fine  new  coats  and  spotless  gowns. 
And  there  one  sees  old  castle  walls, 

As  grand  as  those  of  Babylon, — 
A  bishop  and  two  generals  ! 

Alas,  I  know  not  Carcassonne  ! 


194  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


The  vicar  's  right  a  hundred  times ; 

He  says  we  're  foolish,  to  our  cost ; 
And  tells  us,  in  his  holy  rhymes, 

That  through  ambition  men  are  lost. 
Yet  could  I  manage,  bye  and  bye, 

To  find  two  days  ere  autumn  's  flown  ! 
Ah  me  !  how  sweetly  I  could  die, 

After  I  'd  gazed  on  Carcassonne ! 


My  Heavenly  Father,  pardon  me, 

If  by  my  prayer  I  should  offend  ! 
Some  joy  beyond  our  grasp  we  see, 

From  infancy  unto  life's  end. 
My  good  wife,  with  my  son  Aignon, 

Has  travelled  even  to  Narbonne  ; 
My  grandson  's  been  to  Perpignon, 

But  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne  ! 


TRANSLA  TIONS.  195 


Thus  crooned  a  peasant,  near  Limoux, 

A  peasant  bent  with  toil  and  age. 
I  said :   "  My  friend,  arise  !     With  you 

I  '11  go  upon  this  pilgrimage." 
When  halfway  there,  while  distance  blue 

Still  veiled  the  town  he  fain  had  known, 
His  journey  on  life's  road  was  through  ! 

He  never  had  seen  Carcassonne  ! 


196  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ube  flMougbman  anfc  Ibis  Gbilfcren. 

From  the  French  of  Lia  Fontaine. 


WORK  with  a  will,   work  one  and  all ! 

Work  is  the  stock  that 's  least  likely  to  fall. 

A  ploughman,  whose  lands  were  fertile  and  wide> 

Feeling  death  was  near,  called  his  sons  to  his  side. 

"  Guard  your  inheritance  well,"  said  he, 

"  Sell  not  this  farm  that  my  sires  left  me  ; 

For,  concealed  therein,  a  treasure  lies  ; 

Know  not  I  where  't  is  hid  ;  but  unto  your  eyes 

It  shall  be  revealed,  if  you  search  with  care. 

Look  when  the  harvesters  leave  the  ground  bare ; 

Rake  and  harrow  and  plough  with  pains, 

Till  not  an  unturned  inch  remains." 

The  father  at  rest,  the  sons  to  the  fields 

Went  forth  again  ;  but  no  gold  was  revealed, 

Though  they  sought  it  well ;  but  at  the  year's  close 

They  found  that  their  farm  in  value  rose  ; 

For  the  father  was  wise :   he  had  taught,  ere    he 

died, 
That  work  is  a  treasure,  whatever  betide. 


TRANSLA  TIONS.  197 


From  the  German  of  Heine. 

MY  child,  we  were  once  little  children, 

Merry  and  full  of  play ; 
We  used  to  creep  into  the  henhouse, 

And  hide  ourselves  under  the  hay. 

We  cackled  and  craiked  like  the  biddies ; 

And  then,  when  the  people  came  by, 
"  Cocklededoo ! "  we  shouted  ; 

And  they  thought  it  the  cock's  own  cry. 

Some  boxes  that  stood  in  the  courtyard, 

We  carpeted  over  with  care ; 
And  at  housekeeping  there  together, 

We  played  with  the  grandest  air. 


198  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  the  old  cat,  from  the  neighbor's, 

Came  often  a  visit  to  pay ; 
And  we  courtesied  and  complimented, 

In  a  quaint  and  serious  way ; 


And  asked  for  her  health  politely, 
And  how  she  felt  each  day. 

Since  then,  to  many  old  tabbies 
We  've  talked  the  selfsame  way. 


Sometimes  we  sat  sedately, 
Declaring,  as  grown  folks  do, 

That  the  times  had  been  far  better, 
That  we  in  childhood  knew, — 


That  love  and  truth  and  religion 
Were  vanishing  off  the  earth. 

We  talked  of  the  dearth  of  money, 
And  how  much  coffee  was  worth. 


TRANSLA  TIONS.  199 


All  o'er  are  those  childish  fancies, 

And  all  things  pass  by  like  our  youth, — 

Our  treasures,  the  world  and  its  pleasures, 
And  faith  and  love  and  truth. 


200  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Ube  Castle  b£  tbe  Sea. 

From  the  German  of  Uhland. 

HAST  thou  seen  the  lofty  castle, 
The  castle  by  the  sea  ? 

The  clouds  are  rose  and  golden, 
That  float  above  it  free. 


It  fain  would  cast  itself  downward, 
To  the  mirroring  wave  below ; 

And  it  fain  would  struggle  upward, 
In  the  sunset's  ruddy  glow. 


"Well  have  I  seen  that  castle, 

The  castle  by  the  sea, 
With  the  moon  above  it  watching, 

While  the  mist  rose  shroudingly." 


TRANSLATIONS.  201 


Did  the  wind  and  waves  together 
Sing  of  joy,  as  they  swept  along  ? 

Didst  thou  hear,  from  the  lordly  castle, 
Gay  music  and  festival  song  ? 


"  The  wind  and  waves  together 

Lay  hushed  in  sadness  deep, 
While  with  tears  I  heard,  from  the  castle, 

A  bitter  wailing  sweep." 


And  sawest  thou  not  the  monarch, 
Or  his  stately  wife  behold, — 

And  the  crimson  mantles  waving, 
And  the  crown  of  jewelled  gold? 


Led  they  not  forth  with  rapture 

A  royal  maiden  fair, 
Radiant  as  the  sunshine, 

With  halo  of  golden  hair? 


SO  NG-BL  OS  SO  MS. 


"  I  saw  indeed  the  parents  ; 

But  without  their  jewels  bright. 
They  were  clad  in  sable  garments,- 

No  maiden  was  in  sight." 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY, 


(208) 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  205 


faster 


OH  radiant  lilies,  of  glistening  white, 
Rising  majestic,  blooming  in  light, 
Breathing  forth  incense  by  day  and  by  night  I 

If  the  tongues  in  your  fair  sweet  bells  have  power, 
Let  them  peal  forth  the  tale,  from  this  very  hour, 
Of  the  struggle  from  earth  of  each  perfect  flower. 

Let  them  tell  of  the  time  when  dormant  you  lay, 

Far  from  the  beauty  and  light  of  day, 

In  shroud-like  wrappings,  in  cold  dark  clay. 

Let  them  tell  the  story  for  those  who  deep 

In  graves  of  doubt  and  discouragement  sleep, 

Or  who  wrapped  in  the  garments  of  selfishness  keep ; 


206  SOA7G-BLOSSOMS. 


And  to  those  who  till  now  have  idly  heard 
The  tidings  of  joy,  and  each  beautiful  word 
That  the  dear  Christ  spoke ;  or  are  deterred 


From   breaking  from   darkness    and   seeking    the 

light, 

By  their  lack  of  faith  in  God's  love  and  his  might, 
And  so  effortless  lie  in  the  gloom  of  night. 


Tell  them,  by  courage  and  striving  and  prayer, 

That  they  too  may  rise  to  the  sunlit  air, 

Where  souls,  like  the  lilies,  bloom  pure  and  fair ; 


And  the  words  repeat,  till  they  're  inward  borne 
Upon  thousands  of  souls,  this  Easter  morn, 
Who  shall  upward  strive  and  be  newly  born. 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  207 


Broader  ffielfc. 


OH  thou  who  sighest  for  a  broader  field, 

Wherein  to  sow  the  seeds  of  truth  and  right, — 

Who  fain  a  fuller,  nobler  power  would  wield 
O'er  human  souls  that  languish  for  the  light, — 


Search  well  the  realm  that  even  now  is  thine  ! 

Canst  not  thou  in  some  far-off  corner  find 
A  heart,  sin-bound,  like  tree  with  sapping  vine, 

Waiting  for  help  its  burdens  to  unbind  ?  — 


Some  human  plant,  perchance  beneath  thine  eyes, 
Pierced  through  with  hidden  thorns  of  idle  fears; 

Or  drooping  low,  for  need  of  light  from  skies 

Obscured  by  doubt-clouds,  raining  poison  tears  ?— 


208  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Some  bruised  soul  the  balm  of  love  would  heal ; 

Some  timid  spirit  faith  would  courage  give  ; 
Or  maimed  brother  who,  though  brave  and  leal, 

Still  needeth  thee,  to  rightly  walk  and  live  ? 


Oh  while  one  soul  thou  find st,  which  hath  not  known 
The  fullest  help  thy  soul  hath  power  to  give, 

Sigh  not  for  fields  still  broader  than  thine  own  ; 
But,  steadfast  in  thine  own,  more  broadly  live  ! 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  209 


Ufoe  TKHooM)ir&'0  Sons- 


WEARY  and  sad  one  day, 
I  took  my  lonely  way, 

Through  meadows  green, 
Unto  the  wood  where  spread, 
Around  and  overhead, 

A  leafy  screen. 


There,  in  a  mossy  nook, 
Beside  a  little  brook, — 

That  murmurs  low 
Its  song  of  love  and  thanks 
To  flowers  that  on  its  banks 

In  beauty  grow, — 


210  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


I  laid  me  down  to  weep  ; 

It  seemed  my  soul  could  keep 

No  more  its  woe, 
So  hard  my  life  had  grown  ; 
For  faith  in  God  had  flown, 

1  thought ;  when,  lo !  — 

From  out  the  elder-bloom, 
That  lit  the  forest  gloom 

Just  overhead, 
A  bird's  sweet  song  I  heard, 
Distinctly,  every  word ; 

And  this  it  said : 

"  High  in  the  bright  blue  sky, 
Through  sun  and  cloud  I  fly, 

Nor  fear  to  fall. 
Who  taught  me  how  to  sing 
Will  strengthen  my  small  wing  ; 

He  cares  for  all,  for  all, — 

He  cares  for  all. 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  211 


"And,  though  I  wander  far, 
Where  pathless  forests  are, 

Nor  mark  the  way,— 
Who  me  with  birdlings  blessed 
Will  guide  me  to  my  nest 

At  close  of  day,  of  day,  — 

At  close  of  day." 

The  heaven-taught  lay  was  hushed  ; 
Then  o'er  my  spirit  rushed 

A  wave  of  joy, 
That  swept  all  doubt  away, — 
Brought  faith,  whose  vital  ray 

Naught  can  destroy. 

And  while  the  brook,  the  breeze, 
The  birds  and  little  bees, 

On  every  side, 

Voiced  forth  the  woodbird's  call, 
"He  cares  for  all,  for  allj  " 

I  joyous  cried : 


212  SOWG-BLOSSOMS. 


"  Who  loves  the  birdling  so, 
Loves  me  far  more,  I  know  ; 

I  am  His  child. 
And  though  I  wander  wide, 
Where  sin  and  woe  betide, 

Despair  is  wild. 

"  For,  surely,  who  will  guide 
The  bird,  at  eventide, 

Unto  her  nest, 

Will  take  me,  when  life's  day 
Shall  fade  in  twilight  gray, 

Back  to  His  breast." 

Not  in  that  ancient  book, 
Where  for  His  word  we  look, 

Alone  He  speaks ; 
But  in  each  birdling's  song, 
Each  wind  that  sweeps  along, 

Our  hearts  He  seeks, — 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  213 


In  each  returning  day 
That,  with  its  golden  ray, 

Our  slumber  breaks, 
In  every  springtime  flower, 
Foretelling  autumn's  dower, 

Fresh  promise  makes. 

As  homeward,  from  the  wood, 
I  walked  in  happy  mood, 

The  nightbird's  call, — 
And  crickets,  round  my  way, 
Loud  chirping,  —  seemed  to  say, 

«  He  cares  for  aU !  " 

While  in  my  trusting  heart, 
A  joy,  that  wealth  or  art 

Could  never  bring, 
Thrilled  through  its  very  core, 
And  moved  me  o'er  and  o'er 

To  softly  sing : 


214  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


"  Oh  surely,  who  will  guide 
The  bird,  at  eventide, 

Unto  her  nest, 

Will  take  me,  when  life's  day 
Shall  fade  in  twilight  gray, 

Back  to  His  breast." 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  215 


Sbe  is  IRot  3Dea&. 


OH  do  not  say,  as  one  who  knows  not  of 
The  blessed  gift  called  immortality, 
That  she  who  made  life  rich  and  sweet  to  me 
Is  taken  from  me,  mine  no  more  to  be ! 
I  have  not  lost  her !  Nay,  still  is  she  mine, 
As  when  these  arms  encircled  her  dear  form. 
Her  love — and  is  not  that,  in  truth,  herself? — 
Is  still  mine  own, —  is,  and  will  always  be  ; 
And  time  and  space  can  lessen  not  its  force. 
She  thinks  of  me,  as  I  of  her ;  and  smiles, 
When  in  her  dreams  we  talk  and  laugh  again, 
As  I  in  mine.     We  treasure  still  the  hours 
Made  golden  bright  by  common  joy,  and  all 
The  dear  companionship  of  daily  life, — 
Made  up  of  little  pleasures,  cares,  and  hopes, 
So  sweet  when  shared,  with  tenderness  alike, — 
And  live  them  o'er.     And  though  unto  mine  eye 


216  SONG- BLOSSOMS. 


It  never  has  been  given  to  pierce  the  veil 
That  hangs  between  this  world  and  that  wherein 
She  dwells,  those  wiser  far  than  I  —  and  true 
Unto  the  truth,  as  stars  unto  the  night, 
Light  to  the  morn,  and  buds  unto  the  spring  — 
Do  firmly  say  our  dear  ones  walk  beside 
Us  day  by  day  with  sight,  e'en  as  with  love; 
And  it  may  be,  with  vision  clearer  grown, 
She  sees  more  fully  all  my  life's  deep  needs, 
And  with  a  tender  love,  e'en  as  of  yore, 
Gives  to  me  still  her  faithful  ministry, — 
A  guardian  angel,  as  in  Holy  Writ. 

And  do  not  say,  with  thought  to  comfort  me, 

That  the  dear  hands,  which  always  busied  were 

In  kindly  offices,  are  folded  now, 

And  all  their  work  complete ;  for  't  were  a  cross, 

Indeed,  to  her  whose  whole  unselfish  life 

Was  effort  gladly  made  for  others'  sake, 

To  idly  live  the  long  years  through.     Whether 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  217 


In  this,  or  in  some  world  beyond  the  sun, 
Her  joy  must  still  in  help  to  others  be ; 
Though  know  we  not  the  work  that  waited  her. 

And  say  not,  where  mine  ears  may  hear  the  words, 
"  She  died !  "     There  is  no  death  !     When  she  went 

forth, 

Her  spirit,  brave  and  strong,  its  outworn  case 
Of  prisoning  clay  broke  grandly  through,  and  rose, 
On  wings  of  joy,  unto  that  liTe  wherein 
No  pain  or  grief  or  night  can  ever  come. 
It  was  her  birthday  in  a  happier  world ! 


218  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


ONE,  of  the  poet's  art, 
Hath  said,  that  in  each  heart 

Are  chambers  twain  ; 
And  there  two  brothers  dwell, — 
Aye,  dwell,  and  reign,  as  well, — 

Called  Joy  and  Pain. 


Alas  !  hearts  are  today 

Where  Joy  hath  ne'er  held  sway, 

And  Pain  is  king. 
But,  as  our  God  is  good, 
By  book  and  holy  rood 

These  words  I  sing : 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  219 


One  day,  by  waiting  long, 

Grown  brave  and  calm  and  strong, 

As  heir  to  throne, — 
Who  hath  been,  from  his  right, 
Held  by  usurper's  might, — 

Claiming  his  own, 


Joy  will  triumphant  reign 
For  aye,  in  place  of  Pain, 

For  right  must  have  its  way  ; 
And  hearts,  that  long  have  bled, 
With  bliss  at  last  are  wed. 

God  haste  the  day  ! 


220  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


THY  pity,  Lord,  for  those  who  lie 
With  folded  hands  and  weary  eye, 
And  watch  their  years  go  fruitless  by, 
Yet  know  not  why  ! 


Who  long,  with  spirit  valiant  still, 
To  work  with  earnest  hand  and  will, — 
Whose  souls  for  action  strive  and  thrill, 
Yet  must  be  still ! 

Who  smell  in  dreams  the  clover  sweet, 
And  crush  the  wild  fern  'neath  their  feet, 
And  seek  each  well-loved  haunt  and  seat,- 
Each  old  retreat ; 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  221 


And  mark  again  the  birds'  quick  flight, 
The  river  glancing  in  the  light, 
The  blue  hills  melting  from  the  sight, 
The  starry  night, 

The  fields  aglow  with  sun  and  bloom, 
The  cloudless  sky,  the  leafy  gloom  ; 
Then  wake  to  low  and  darkened  room, 
Their  world,  a  tomb ! 

Dear  Lord,  forgive  !  if,  as  they  lie, 
And  sadly  watch  their  lives  drift  by, 
Pain-torn,  in  anguish  sore,  they  cry , 
"  I  would  know  why  1 " 


222  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


or  Down. 


FROM  a  casement  that  oped  on  a  narrow  street, 
Where  houses  were  dingy  and  poor  and  forlorn, 

Two  maidens  looked  forth  the  day  to  greet, 
And  their  faces  were  fair  in  the  light  of  morn. 


But  one  looked  down  on  the  ill-kept  way, 
The  miry  pools,  and  the  pavement  rent, 

That  rarely  were  warmed  by  a  single  ray 
Of  the  beautiful  sun  the  dear  God  sent; 


At  the  tiny  yards,  where  no  grasses  grew, 
And  garments,  ugly  and  cheap  and  worn, 

Swaying  in  air  that  never  knew 

How  sweets  in  the  heart  of  the  rose  are  born ; 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  223 


At  a  pallid  girl  with  a  wailing  child  ; 

A  laborer,  shabby  and  bent  with  toil ; 
And  a  youth  whose  eye  was  fierce  and  wild, 

Telling  the  tale  of  a  soul's  turmoil ; 

And  an  anguished  cry  from  her  heart  arose, 

"  'T  is  a  weary  world,  full  of  sadness  and  strife  ! 

No  love  for  us  mortals  the  great  God  knows  ; 
No  blessing  is  there  in  the  gift  of  life !  " 

The  other  looked  up  to  the  delicate  blue, 
The  lofty  walls  could  not  wholly  hide, 

And  watched  it  deepen  in  warmth  and  hue, 
Till  the  banners  of  morning  were  floating  wide. 

A  steeple  tall  she  saw  on  the  right,  — 

The  church  where  she  learned  a  Father's  care ; 

On  the  left  a  gold  cross  met  her  sight, 

And  she  thought :  "  They  are  kind  to  the  orphans 
there." 


224  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


From  a  roof  near  by  some  pigeons  flew, 

And  their  soft  tints  shone  in  the  morning  light ; 

And  the  topmost  branch  of  a  tree,  that  grew 
In  a  neighboring  street,  she  marked  with  delight. 

As  she  watched  it  wave  in  the  gentle  ah*, 

Wondering  if  birdlings  had  no  fear, 
And  if  even  then  they  were  building  there, 

A  robin's  matin  thrilled  her  ear ; 

And  she  clasped  her  hands  with  a  rapturous  sigh, 
Crying, "  Life  is  sweet,  and  the  world  is  fair  1 

God  watches  us  all  with  a  loving  eye, 
From  children  of  earth  to  fowls  of  the  air  I " 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  225 


1ber  first  Sunfcas  in  1foeax>en, 


WHY  do  we  pause  and  listen, 
Delay  with  unclosed  door, 

As  though  we  fain  would  welcome, 
Within  the  fold,  one  more  ? 

The  music  of  childish  footfalls 

Echoes  along  the  aisle  ; 
But  we  miss  one  step  familiar, 

And  the  light  of  a  sunny  smile. 

We  scan  the  groups  before  us, 
Each  fair  and  youthful  face  ; 

One  little  form  is  missing 
From  its  accustomed  place. 

The  chorus  of  fresh  young  voices 
Swells  on  the  waiting  ear  ; 

But  her  accents,  sweet  and  girlish, 
We  list  in  vain  to  hear. 


226  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  the  tears  from  our  eyes  are  falling, 
And  to  sing  we  strive  in  vain  ; 

The  words  we  cannot  utter, 

For  our  lips  are  dumb  with  pain. 

But  I  think,  when  the  children  in  Heaven 
Today  make  their  anthems  ring, 

The  angels  will  smile  with  pleasure, 
To  hear  a  new  voice  sing. 


So,  though  the  tears  unbidden 
To  our  lids  will  press  and  fall, 

Let  our  hearts  send  up  thanksgiving 
To  Him  who  loveth  all, 


That  while  we  weep  and  are  lonely, 
This  best  day  of  all  the  seven, 

To  her  it  is  one  of  gladness, 

Her  very  first  Sunday  in  Heaven. 


IN  THE  SANCTUAR  Y.  227 


(Tome  Bacfe. 


OH  mother,  dear  mother,  come  back  to  thy  child, 

If  but  for  one  moment,  her  grief  is  so  wild  ! 

Leave  thy  shining  companions,  the  land  of    bright 

homes, 

And  come  where  in  darkness  a  sad  mortal  roams. 
I  reach  my  arms  toward  thee  !  I  listen,  I  pray  : 
From  the  city  celestial,  oh  come,  come  away ! 

Oh  come  to  me,  mother !  I  long  for  thee  so ! 

Let  me  look  in  thy  face,  with  its  bright,  loving  glow  ; 

What  rapture  't  would  be  to  see  once  again 

Thy  form  in  its  freedom  from  weakness  and  pain ; 

And  to  hear  the  dear  voice — ah,  that  were  the  best ! — 

That  soothed  me  when  lying  a  babe  on  thy  breast ! 


228  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Oh  come  but  to  tell  me  thy  joy  is  complete, 

That  bright,  fragrant  blossoms  spring  up  round  thy 

feet; 

That  sweetest  communion  is  held,  day  by  day, 
With  the  loved  ones  we  tearfully  saw  pass  away; 
And  lay  thy  dear  hand,  as  of  old,  on  my  hnir, 
And  steal  from  my  heart  all  its  sadness  and  care. 

Then  kiss  me  farewell,  and  return  to  the  blest, 
While  thoughts    of    thy  coming  still  gladden   my 

breast ; 

And  all  through  the  years  that  I  walk  here  alone, 
The  proof  of  thy  gladness  shall  stifle  each  moan  ; 
And  the  griefs  of  this  life  all  as  nothing  will  be, 
While  I  journey,  dear  mother,  toward  Heaven  and 

thee. 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  229 


Ht  tbe  Uomb  of  Dickens* 


I  CANNOT  turn  me  from  this  tomb, 
I  Ve  crossed  the  seas  to  find, 

And  leave  no  sign,  no  leaf  or  flower, 
Of  all  my  love  behind. 

Nor  can  I  go  ere  I  have  laid, 

Above  this  sacred  dust, 
Some  blossom  sweet,  to  tell  her  love ; 

It  were  to  break  a  trust ! 

And  so  upon  this  hallowed  spot, 
By  which  I  reverent  stand, 

I  cast  this  little  wreath  of  verse, 
With  fondly  lingering  hand. 


230  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  when  the  angel,  fair  and  strong, 
Who  nightly  guards  the  dead, 

Walks  forth  with  soundless,  weightless  feet, 
'Neath  his  transforming  tread, 

May  this  poor  garland,  scentless  now, 

And  lifeless,  like  the  tomb, 
Change  till  it  glows,  when  morning  comes, 

A  wreath  of  living  bloom ! 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  231 


1Tn  Gbafns, 


As  the  village  clock,  in  its  tall  church-tower, 
Tolls  for  the  death  of  the  midnight  hour, 
Through  the  shadows  dark  of  the  silent  street, 
With  shrinking  form,  and  with  halting  feet, 
Walks  a  man  in  chains, — 

In  galling  chains,  though  no  clanking  sound 
Awakens  the  echoes  that  sleep  around ; 
Aye,  and  though  never  a  link  may  gleam 
In  the  silver  moon's  uncertain  beam, 
They  are  riveted  close. 

And  the  fetters,  that  weigh  on  his  form  like  lead, 
Are  dragging  him  down  to  a  place  with  the  dead, 
Are  crushing  his  brain  and  soul  and  heart; 
For  he 's  slave  to  a  demon  of  cruel  art, 
And  a  giant's  strength. 


282  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


With  head  bent  low, — lest  the  night's  pure  eyes, 
The  stars  that  shine  in  the  arching  skies, 
Should  meet  his  own,  and,  meeting,  betray 
The  grief  of  Heaven  o'er  his  downward  way, — 
He  stumbles  on. 

Oh  tender  moon,  draw  over  thy  face 
Yon  floating  veil  of  cloud-spun  lace  ; 
For  never,  in  all  thy  nightly  round, 
Is  a  picture  sadder,  more  terrible,  found, 
Than  that  thou  seest. 

Oh  star-eyed  flowers,  with  night-dews  bright, 
Well  may  ye  weep  at  this  pitiful  sight ; 
And,  weeping,  add  to  the  numberless  tears 
Of  the  sorrowful  women,  whose  prayers  and  fears 
Are  for  such  as  he. 

Oh  winds  that  are  passing,  well  may  ye  sigh, 
And  join  your  wail  to  the  human  cry, 
That,  like  a  miserere  grand, 
Is  rising  all  over  our  fab*  young  land, 
From  millions  of  hearts, 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  233 


For  him  who  was  made  in  God's  own  shape, 

Who  has  maddened  his  blood  with  the  blood  of  the 

grape, 

Who  has  sold  his  freedom,  his  self-command, 
For  the  chain  that  binds  him  foot  and  hand, 
In  slavery. 

Oh  God,  thou  hast  broken  the  African's  chain ; 
Thou  canst  free  from  the  bondage  of  sin  and  its 

pain  ! 
With  the  might  of  thy  love  break  the  fetters,  we 

pray, 

That  the  man  of  weak  will  is  wearing  today, 
Where'er  he  be  found! 


Give  him  courage  to  strive  till  his  freedom  's  reborn! 
Give  him  hope  to  look  forward  to  victory's  morn  ! 
Give  him  strength  for  the  task,  from  thine  infinite 

store, 

Of  rising  from  serfdom  to  manhood  once  more, 
Oh  God,  we  implore! 


234  SONG-B  L  OSSOMS. 


Ube  Burial  ot  a  flDaster. 


WHY  is  the  mansion  open  ? 

Why  are  its  doors  flung  wide  ? 
Has  the  master  come  to  the  country, 

In  the  dreary  winter-tide  ? 

Has  he  stolen  a  day  from  the  city  ? 

Has  he  broken  from  toil  and  care, 
While  the  snows  lie  deep  on  the  meadows, 

And  the  woods  are  brown  and  bare  ? 

Has  he  bidden  his  friends  assemble  ? 

Do  they  come  at  his  welcome  call  ? 
Will  the  music  of  happy  voices 

Steal  out  through  the  ivied  hall  ? 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY. 


Then  why  is  he  not  at  the  portal, 
With  welcoming  voice  and  hand  ? 

And  why  do  the  loved  ones  enter, 
A  hushed  and  awestruck  band  ? 


All  silently  through  the  portal, 
One  guest  unbidden  passed. 

Though  no  eye  saw  him  enter, 
The  shadow,  which  he  cast, 


Has  turned  the  day  into  darkness, 
Has  clouded  our  eyes  with  grief; 

For  his  hand  has  bound  the  master, 
As  the  reaper  binds  the  sheaf. 


Was  he  mightier  than  the  master, 
Whose  giant  brain  had  planned 

The  rending  of  the  mountain, 

And  the  rushing  river  spanned?  — 


236  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 

Who  had  made,  far  over  the  prairie, 
Where  the  golden  poppies  grow, 

And  out  through  the  forest  primeval, 
The  ways  where  millions  go  ?  — 

More  potent  than  he  whose  magic 
The  crystal  wave  of  the  lake 

Had  sent  through  hills  of  granite, 
The  city's  thirst  to  slake  ? 


Aye,  mightier  than  the  master, 
As  the  gale  beyond  a  breath, 

As  the  torrent  than  a  brooklet. 
Was  't  the  messenger  of  death  ? 


Nay,  not  of  death,  my  brother,  — 
No  soul  was  made  to  die,  — 

But  of  life,  that  is  God  our  Father, 
Who  calls  to  his  work  on  high ; 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  237 


For  the  mind  of  great  achievement, 

And  noble  activity, 
"Will  soar  unto  heights  far  grander, 

From  earth's  limitations  free  ; 


A  heart,  in  all  life's  changes, 
Tender  and  brave  and  true, 

Through  the  ages,  with  each  pulsation, 
Must  its  strength  of  love  renew. 


Over  the  hills  and  meadows, 
That  lie  in  their  shroud  of  snow, 

The  winter  winds  are  chanting 
A  requiem  sad  and  low ; 


But  within  the  trees'  dry  branches, 
And  beneath  that  shroud  of  snow, 

The  buds  are  only  waiting 
God's  own  good  time  to  grow. 


238  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


And  down  in  hearts  now  deadened, 
By  the  chilling  winter  of  grief, 

The  germs  of  hope  are  still  lying, 
That  shall  burst  into  flower  and  leaf. 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY. 


Departure  of  tbe  <S>R> 


THROUGH  hope  and  fear,  the  dear  Old  Year 
Has  walked  beside  me  day  by  day. 

He  's  weary  grown,  and  bent  and  gray ; 
Tonight  he  goes  away. 

O'er  river  sealed  and  frozen  field, 

O'er  mountain  high  and  meadow  low, 

White  as  his  beard  lies  thick  the  snow, 
That  he  unheard  may  go. 

Oh  dear  Old  Year,  't  is  dark  and  drear  ! 

It  storms  without ;  why  go  so  soon  ? 
Wait  for  the  rising  of  the  moon, 

And  grant,  meanwhile,  this  boon . 


240  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Blot  from  your  book,  where  every  look 
And  word  and  deed  of  mine  are  set, 

Each  thought  and  action  I  regret, 
Each  unforgiven  debt ! 

And,  oh,  I  pray,  take  not  away 

One  joy  into  my  life  you  Ve  wrought ; 

But  of  the  griefs  that  you  have  brought, 
Kind  Year,  oh  leave  me  naught  I 

I  wait  his  word.    No  sound  is  heard 
But  sad- voiced  bells !  —  Their  dirge  is  o'er. 

The  dear  Old  Year  will  come  no  more  ; 
The  New  is  at  the  door  I 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  241 


Ube  ©R>  an&  tbe  IFlew, 

A  Song  of  Progress. 


DIM  grow  the  shores  of  the  Old, 
Fast  do  they  fade  from  our  view ; 

With  hearts  that  are  buoyant  and  bold, 
We  steer  for  the  realms  of  the  New. 


Then  adieu  to  the  land  of  the  Old ! 

All  hail  to  the  world  of  the  New ! 
Farewell  to  the  life  that  is  told ! 

Welcome  the  coming,  the  true ! 

Though  by  chains  of  outworn  thought, — 
Whose  links  were  welded  strong 

At  the  forge  where  selfishness  wrought, — 
We  were  held  to  the  Old  too  long  ;_ ^ 


TTHIVBRSITT 


242  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Though  the  rocks  of  prejudice  grim 
Frowned  dark  on  either  hand, 

And  superstition's  whim 

Stretched  wide  its  bars  of  sand ; 


We  are  launched  on  the  sea  at  last, 
We  are  leaving  the  land  of  the  Old ; 

By  God's  help,  on  its  shores  we  have  cast 
Our  greed  for  power  and  gold. 


In  the  waters  we  're  sailing  o'er, 

The  thought  of  self  shall  be  drowned ; 

Like  a  pearl,  on  the  strand  before, 
The  love  for  mankind  shall  be  found. 


Though  the  plains  our  feet  have  crossed 
Are  scarred  with  many  a  grave, 

No  sigh  for  the  stolen  and  lost 

Shall  sadden  the  song  of  the  wave. 


fJV  THE  SANCTUARY.  243 


Though  the  hills  may  still  be  seen 
Where  justice  was  crucified, 

No  tear  for  the  pain  that  has  been 
Shall  fall  in  the  billow  we  ride. 


Though  the  memories,  one  and  all, 
Of  the  false  and  the  cruel  and  weak, 

From  our  hearts  shall  swiftly  fall, 

Where  the  nymphs  play  hide  and  seek; 


The  thoughts  of  the  sweet  and  the  dear, 
The  tender,  the  brave,  and  the  true, 

We  will  bear  in  our  breasts,  while  we  steer 
From  the  land  of  the  Old  to  the  New. 


God  grant  that  the  holy  and  strong, 
Now  freed  from  mortality's  chain, 

May  swift  through  the  ether  throng, 
To  dwell  with  us  once  again, 


244  SOJTG-&LOSSOMS. 


With  presence  that  soothes  like  balm, 
With  guidance  that  nerer  shall  fail; 

And  when  sleeping  winds  becalm, 
May  their  white  wings  fan  our  sail. 

Dim  grow  the  shores  of  the  Old, 
Fast  do  they  fade  from  our  yiew  ; 

With  hearts  that  are  loying  and  bold, 
We  steer  for  the  realms  of  the  New. 

Then  adieu  to  the  land  of  the  Old ! 

All  hail  to  the  world  of  the  New ! 
Farewell  to  the  life  that  is  told ! 

Welcome  the  coming,  the  true ! 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  245 


t:\vo  praters. 

So  sad  is  life,  I  cry : 
"  Father,  oh  let  me  die, 

That  pain  be  o'er." 
Yet,  born  of  that  same  sigh, 
Swift- winged  the  prayer  doth  fly, 
"  Oh  God,  not  yet  to  die  ! 

Of  days  give  more  1 " 


Despite  all  loss  and  pain, 
Though  sorrows  o'er  me  rain, 

More  time  I  ask, 
That,  ere  I  leave  this  life, 
With  grief  and  anguish  rife, 
I  earn  my  peace  by  strife,  — 

Complete  my  task. 


SONG-BL  OSSOMS. 


As  o'er  my  lengthening  chain  of  years, 

One  backward  glance  is  cast  tonight, 
I  see  the  past  stand  forth,  revealed 

By  memory's  sweet  though  saddening  light, — 
Each  day  a  link  within  the  chain  ; 

Some  gemmed  with  flowers,  some  dimmed  by  tears, 
But  all,  grief-stained  or  bright  with  joy, 

The  records  bear  of  vanished  years. 

Oh  may  the  links  that  time  shall  add, 

Though  few,  some  deeds  of  love  entwine ; 
May  faith  and  patience  lend  their  rays 

To  make  the  chain  more  brightly  shine  ; 
And  may  it  neither  rust  nor  break 

Till,  stretched  from  earth  to  heaven  above, 
*T  is  firmly  held  within  the  hand 

Of  Pirn  whose  truest  name  is  Love  ! 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  247 


for  1belp, 


OH  God,  in  thy  strength,  on  our  weaknesslook  down, 
Each  holy  endeavor  with  victory  crown, — 
Each  struggle  for  freedom  from  doubt  and  from  sin, 
From  the  foes  that  are  lurking  without  and  within ! 


Give  power  to  the  arm  that  would  shelter  the  weak, 
And  language  to  lips  that  fain  comfort  would  speak ! 
Oh  strengthen  the  hand  that  would  raise  the 

opprest, 
And  give  speed  to  the   feet  that  would  do  thy 

behest ! 


Of  each  pure  aspiration,  each  lofty  desire, 

Oh  grant  thou  fulfilment,  and  draw  us  up  higher ! 

Our  efforts,  unaided,  can  nothing  avail ; 

Then  give  us  thy  help,  or  we  faint  and  we  fail? 


248  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


LEND  a  hand,    lend  a  hand,  in  the  work  for  the 

world ! 
Place  these  words  on  your  banner,  ne'er  let  it  be 

furled, 
Till  sin,  pain,  and  wrong  from  their  turrets  are 

hurled. 

Lend  a  hand !    Do  not  think  that  because  yours  is 

small, 

Or  because  from  your  fingers  no  riches  may  fall, 
It  was  meant  you  should  render  no  succor  at  all. 

There  are  eyes  that  are  weeping  where  none  wipe 

the  tear  ; 
There  are  hearts  that  are  breaking  for  tidings  of 

cheer  ; 
There  are  sinners  who  'd  turn  from  their  sins  were 

you  near ; 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  249 


There   are   lips  that  are  burning  where  none  hold 

the  cup ; 

There  are  children  who  starve  for  a  bit  and  a  sup  ; 
There  are  forms  that  are  sinking,  your  hand  might 

hold  up. 

Lend  a  hand,  lend  a  hand!     There  is  coming    a 

day 

When  He  who  shall  weigh  us  to  each  one  will  say : 
u  Did  you   help   every  brother  you    could    on    the 

way?" 


250  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Sunset  1bsmn. 

NIGHT'S  curtain,  with  its  fringe  of  gold, 
Droops  low  o'er  all  the  earth  ; 

No  little  flowers  their  leaves  unfold, 
No  bird-song  finds  its  birth. 

And  while,  like  benediction  sweet, 

The  silence  floats  along, 
I  come,  oh  Father,  to  thy  feet, 

And  lift  my  heart  in  song. 

And  as  I  gaze  where  sinks  the  sun, 
Slow  fading  from  my  sight, 

I  think  of  him,  thy  holy  one, 
Who  filled  the  world  with  light. 


IN  THE  SANCTUARY.  251 


The  sun,  of  Christ  an  emblem  fit, 

In  sinking  to  his  rest, 
Leaves  clouds,  with  rose  and  opal  lit, 

Along  the  golden  west. 

So,  Father,  grant  that,  when  I  go, 
Within  some  heart  remain 

Of  hope  or  love  a  warmer  glow,  — 
That  life  be  not  in  vain. 


252  SONG-BLOSSOMS. 


Benediction. 


NIGHT  holds  the  world  in  her  embrace ; 

Her  shades  are  round  us  rolled  ; 
So  may  the  mantle  of  thy  grace 

Our  spirits  closely  fold. 

Softly  as  fall  the  snows,  that  lend 
Our  earth  her  robe  of  white, 

May  sweet  and  perfect  peace  descend 
Upon  our  hearts  tonight ! 


INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


Advice  to  a  Despairing  Lover 175 

Andrea's  Discovery 170 

An  Old  Old-Fashioned  Flower 179 

Arbor- day  Song 154 

Aurora's  Coining 37 

Autumn's  Coming 28 

Bee,  The 24 

Benediction 252 

Bessie's  Riches 143 

Birthday  Hymn 246 

Birthday  Letter  to  Flossie 124 

Breath,  A 72 

Burial  of  a  Master .     .  234 

By  the  Brook 22 

Call  to  the  Crocuses 70 

Carcassonne 192 

Castle  by  the  Sea 200 

Child  and  the  Aster 128 

Children's  Saint 97 

Child-times 197 

Chime  for  a  September  Wedding    .     ...     .     .     .     .  184 

Come  Back 227 

Coming  Home  at  Night 85 

Cradle  in  which  John  Quincy  Adams  was  Rocked  .     .  93 


256  INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


Daisies  and  Succory 53 

Departure  of  the  Old  Year 239 

Dependence 62 

Dickens' s  Tomb .     .  229 

Dream  of  Schooldays 78 

Easter  Lilies 205 

Giving 114 

Greeting  with  Bluebells 183 

Helping  Zeke 137 

Her  First  Sunday  in  Heaven 225 

Hold  Fast  the  Bright  Hours 69 

How  They  Started  for  the  Fair 135 

Hymn  for  Help 247 

If  I  were  a  Boy  instead  of  a  Girl 117 

In  Chains 231 

In  the  Meadows  in  June 14 

Invalided 220 

Invocation  to  the  Hills 43 

Jealous  Ghost 163 

Joy  and  Pain 218 

Joy  Doubled 11 

Kitty's  Birthday  Party 122 


INDEX  OF  TITLES.  257 


Lady  Marie's  Mishap Ill 

Land  Where  We  all  Have  Been 90 

Lend  a  Hand 248 

Loch  Katrine 65 

May  Party 146 

Mayweed 57 

Milkweed-down 29 

Mountain  Emigrant 189 

Mugwump ' -    .    .  161 

My  Little  Milkmaid 133 

November  Greeting 181 

Old  and  the  New 241 

On  the  Hills 39 

Our  Christmas 157 

Ploughman  and  his  Children ,    .    .    .  196 

Prisoner  of  the  Snow  Fort 120 

Quest,  The 18 

Regret 61 

Santa  Claus's  Sister 103 

She  Is  Not  Dead 215 

Spiranthes       31 

Spring  Pasture 26 

Sunset  Hymn 250 

Sunset  on  the  Bay 63 


INDEX  OF  TITLES. 


The  Broader  Field 207 

To  Woman  Who  Toileth 87 

Two  Prayers 245 

Up  or  Down 222 

Useless  Little  Tree 44 

Usurer's  Reply 173 

Valentine  Song 74 

Wedding  in  the  Garden 107 

Welcome  to  Baby 186 

When  Pushed  to  the  Wall 176 

Where 12 

Wild  Gerardia 20 

Woodbird's  Song      . 209 

Yellow-bird                            .    .  65 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


A  child  from  the  folds  of  his  tiny  gown 29 

As  o'er  my  lengthening  chain  of  years 246 

As  the  village  clock  in  its  tall  church  tower    ....  231 

Autumn's  coming,  even  now 28 

By  the  brook  that  laughs  and  plays 22 

Coming  in  the  glad  midsummer 186 

Could  you  but  peep  into  this  home 97 

Daisies  that  faint  in  the  noonday  sun 58 

Dear  Flossie,  I  wish  I  might  have  something  better      .  124 

Dim  grow  the  shores  of  the  old 241 

From  a  casement  that  ope'd  on  a  narrow  street  .     .     .  222 

Give  me  of  your  strength  and  grandeur 43 

Greenly  grow,  oh  trees  we  've  planted 154 

Hast  thou  seen  the  lofty  castle 200 

Heigh 'o  and  heigh 'o!  and  o' heigh! 184 

Herr  Blumenthal,  a  Jew  who  dwelt 173 

How  sweetly  as  I  dream  advance 189 


MO  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


I  am  naught  but  a  little  mayweed 57 

I  cannot  turn  me  from  this  tomb 229 

If  you  're  harrassed  and  hurried 176 

I  know  of  a  land  where  we  all  have  been 90 

I'm  sixty  years,  I'm  growing  old       192 

In  an  earth- filled  cleft  of  a  rocky  steep 44 

I  sing  as  sings  the  bird 11 

It  was  cloudy  at  even,  it  stormed  all  night       ....  120 

I  watched  the  cloudrack  sweep  the  sky 24 

I  wish  I  owned  a  ship 135 

Lady  Rose  and  Sweet  William  were  married  ....  107 

Lady  Rose,  Lady  Rose 114 

Lend  a  hand  in  the  work  for  the  world 248 

Lover,  sighing  in  despair 175 

*Midst  New  Hampshire's  hills  of  granite 137 

Musing  I  glide  o'er  Katrine's  Lake 65 

My  child,  we  were  once  little  children 197 

Namesake  of  the  sweet  cuckoo 18 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  as  one  who  knows  not  of     ....  215 

Night  holds  the  world  in  her  embrace 252 

Night's  curtain  with  its  fringe  of  gold 250 

Oh  beautiful  Aster,  a  little  maid  cried 128 

Oh,  do  you  know  our  Bessie 143 

Oh  fair  is  the  morning 37 

Oh  God,  in  thy  strength  on  weakness  look  down     .     .  247 

Oh  if  I  were  a  boy  instead  of  a  girl 117 

Oh  lady  fair,  thine  ear  incline 74 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES.  261 


Oh  let  us  not  cling  with  vain  sorrowing 69 

Oh  mother,  dear  mother,  come  back  to  thy  child     .     .  227 

Oh,  oft  in  my  dreams  I  am  wandering  still      ....  26 

Oh  radiant  lilies  of  glistening  white 205 

Oh  the  blue,  blue  sky  is  o'er  me 14 

Oh  thou  who  sighest  for  a  broader  field 207 

Oh  where  does  the  blush  of  the  wildrose  go     ....  12 

One  of  the  poet's  art 218 

One  winter's  night  a  merry  group 163 

Our  Kitty  is  five  years  old  today 122 

Over  the  ploughed  ground,  into  the  clover      ....  Ill 

Place  a  spray  in  thy  belt  or  a  rose  on  thy  stand  ...  87 

Pray  what  do  you  see  with  your  great  brown  eyes    .     .  39 

So  sad  is  life 245 

The  bluebird  is  calling,  the  spring  rain  is  falling      .     .  70 

There  's  a  gay  little  yellow-bird  flitting  about ....  55 

The  wind 's  asleep,  there 's  not  a  breath 63 

This  morn  I  flung  open  my  casement 181 

Though  all  the  ornithologists 161 

Though  dark  the  night  and  the  rough  way  long       .     .  85 

Though  grand  and  unending 62 

Though  the  winds  may  roar 133 

Through  hope  and  fear,  the  dear  old  year 239 

Through  mazes  bright  of  August  bloom 20 

Thy  pity,  Lord 220 

To  and  fro,  to  and  fro 93 

Two  lovers  stood  in  the  twilight  dim 72 


262  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Weary  and  sad,  one  day 209 

We  didn't  have  much  of  a  Christmas 157 

Were  I  the  summer  breeze,  dear  girl 183 

We  sat  and  talked  of  storied  days 170 

We  stood  at  a  crowded  counter 103 

When  the  autumn  days  are  here 31 

When  the  god  of  sleep  had  touched  me 78 

Why  do  we  pause  and  listen 225 

Why  is  the  mansion  open 234 

With  gift  of  blossoms  sweet  and  gay 179 

With  hearts  as  light  as  thistledown 146 

Work  with  a  will,  work  one  and  all 196 

Wouldst  dim  this  shining  day 61 


